


Behind Block Walls

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Emotional Abuse, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Trauma, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-02
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-11 06:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written as part of a summer gift-exchange challenge for LJ.  My prompt was:  Reese has been searching for Finch for six months now. Each week that passes, each dead end, makes Reese that much more desperate to find his partner. Finally all that work pays off and Finch is located... but he's incapacitated somehow. If he's in hospital injured, unconscious, even comatose... if he's being held prisoner in a secret government facility or not-so-secret garden variety prison... if he's been locked in a mental ward: that decision is up to the writer. My request is that you find a way to bring the boys home.</p>
<p>Naturally my plotbunnies, being the twisted little lagamorphs that they are, decided to have their wicked way with this and 'Behind Block Walls' is the result.  The story will wind up being 7 or 8 chapters long, with the final ones being posted very soon.  Chaps 1-V are complete.  NOTE:  there WILL be Finch/Reese slash later in the story.  There are also dark scenes of abuse, non-con and humiliation. You have been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caged Bird

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter I: Caged Bird  
Rating: R to NC-17 (violence, restraint, non-con drug use and emotional abuse)  
Characters: Finch & Reese

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

**PROLOGUE:**

_“Harold, I’m really very disappointed in you...” the woman who referred to herself as Root, shook her head and sighed._

_“You’ve been so uncooperative when all I wanted was just a little information.”_

_Finch refused to answer. His current position, lying on his uninjured side, precluded him from raising his head. A police-issue manacle bound one ankle to the pipe chase coming out of the wall. He kept his eyes trained on the opposite side of the storage room that had become his prison._

_His elegantly dressed adversary moved across the concrete floor, stiletto heels tapping a sharp staccato rhythm as she walked. The recluse caught a whiff of her perfume as she passed him; its sweet floral scent aggravating his sinuses._

_In the beginning, when Root had first brought him here, she’d allowed him to bathe and shave on a regular basis. As his disinclination to accede to her demands continued, Turing had lengthened the times between these privileges. For the last sixty days, he'd been given clean water only twice and no soap on either occasion. His only clothing was the suit he had been wearing when Root took him._

_Harold hated the way he looked....and smelled. He knew that he was disgusting. He could swear he felt his skin crawling. His hair had grown out and hung in limp, greasy tangles past his earlobes. A coarse stubble covered his chin and cheeks. His palms were blackened from the grimy concrete._

_The billionaire’s fastidious nature was revolted by the conditions of his captivity but he made not even a token protest. Finch refused to give his jailer the satisfaction. In addition to making him wallow in his own filth, Root had cut back on his food. For several weeks now Harold had subsisted on one small meal a day. His water ration had been kept up, however. Although Finch was a good fifteen pounds lighter than he had been when he was taken, at least he wasn’t dehydrated._

_Turing stood by his head, her luxury shoes inches from his nose. The scent of expensive leather hit his nostrils, offering a breath of relief from his own body odor._

_“So Harold. You won’t be sensible, yet you still have too much potential value to kill. I have more important things to do than baby-sit a disobedient brat. I’ll have to pass that task on to someone else, I think....put you someplace where you will learn how to mind.”_

_Root waved a hand absently and the door opened, admitting a well-built man in gray fatigues. Without looking at the new arrival, Turing pointed towards Finch’s leg._

_“Unshackle him.”_

_The guard did so and stepped back behind his employer. Root gestured again and another guard tossed what looked like a bundle of rags down next to the billionaire._

_“It’s time for you to change clothes...you’ve got a bit of a trip ahead of you.”_

_Finch didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge that they were in the room. Turing knelt down and pulled his chin up so that he was forced to look into her face. Her eyes were cold and her lips curved up into a mocking smile._

_“Strip Harold, right now or my guards will do it for you and they won’t have much care for your injuries.” She let go of him and standing up, took a step back; reaching out for a sanitary wipe one of the guards had ready for her._

_Finch knew that Turing would make good on her threat and laboriously pulled himself to his feet. He stood for a moment, swaying with the weakness brought on by hunger. His shoes, tie and belt had been taken from him on the first day...probably with the intent of keeping him from attempting suicide. He risked a glance at his captor only to see her smile widen as she shook her head._

_Harold felt his face flush and realized that he would have to disrobe in front of her. Closing his eyes he took off his suit coat, dropping the stained and crusty garment on the floor next to him. He removed his waistcoat, letting it fall on top of his jacket. His dress shirt followed; its once immaculately white front now stained with sweat and traces of blood. Finch unbuttoned his trousers, opening the zipper and letting them fall to the floor. The recluse stepped out of the pants legs, taking care to maintain his balance._

_“Socks and underthings too, Harold....and don’t turn your back to me or I will have my guards finish the job.”_

_Humiliation bathed him as Finch shed the last remaining barriers protecting his modesty. He was acutely aware of Turing’s gaze sliding over him, taking in his grimy skin and matted hair; his hollow stomach and almost skeletal appearance. Her eyes settled on his crotch and she snorted in contempt._

_Harold swallowed, feeling his genitals wilt under his captors scrutiny. He lifted his head and stared over her shoulder, refusing to cover himself._

_Root laughed and gestured a third time. Both guards now had buckets and doused Finch one right after the other. He gasped as the icy water shocked his already taxed system and he began shuddering from the cold._

_“Put your new clothes on Harold...I don’t have all day.” With that, Caroline turned on her heel and marched out the door, the tapping of her shoes echoing down the hallway. Finch struggled into the ragged garments that had been left for him, the stoic guards standing silent witness to his efforts._

_When the uniformed men brought him to the front of the building, Turing was waiting for him. A large black car with tinted windows stood idling next to her. One of the guards hauled Finch over to the automobile and tossed him onto the backseat. Root climbed in beside him and reached out to her prisoner._

_Finch yelped as he felt her grab his wrist, yanking the emaciated limb back towards her. He cried out again as a needle penetrated his vein, watching in horror as Root depressed the syringe's plunger._

_"NO! Don‘t, you......." the recluse's voice petered out as the hallucinogen flooded his bloodstream; his elevated heart-rate only pumping the drug that much faster to his brain. By the time the car left the storage facility grounds, the man who’d become Harold Finch was reduced to a quivering mass on the floorboards; whimpering at the demons his mind was conjuring for him._

_Turing removed Finch's glasses, tossing them out the window. Leafing through the current issue of Vanity Fair her driver had picked up for her, the woman callously disregarded the quiet sounds of distress coming from the helpless man at her feet._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Later, same day_

"ng-gh” 

Finch struggled against the gurney’s restraints as the EMTs wheeled him into drab brick building. His brain was still reeling from whatever concoction Caroline Turing had shot him up with before initiating her ‘warehousing’ plan. 

Dressed in mis-matched and tattered clothing; with his current physical state (coupled with the cheap liquor she‘d poured over him as he lay helpless on the grassy verge of the interstate), the doctors assumed that he was homeless and an alcoholic . The drugs were preventing him from articulating his situation, reducing him to a few garbled words before his mouth stopped working properly.

Harold felt his arm being pinned again; the sting of yet another needle and his skeletal muscles began to relax. He tried once more to protest but this time even his lips rebelled against him...his jaw hung slack, drool oozing over his cheek. 

The nurses stripped him with brutal efficiency; rolling him first on one side then the other like some gigantic rag doll. He heard their collective intake of breath and a corner of his awareness was enraged at the audacity of them laying hands on the scars covering his hip and thigh. He felt questing fingers on the back of his neck and knew that the doctor on duty was examining his fused vertebrae. 

At last they were done with their poking and prodding; their blood taking and peering into his eyes and ears. The doctor and nurses left him in the care of two interns who were instructed to give him a sponge bath. The trainees consulted one another and deducing that their charge would be incapacitated for some time yet, ducked out to take a smoke.

Finch was left in the admission room he’d been taken to, naked and shivering; still strapped down on the gurney. A stainless steel basin containing a folded washcloth and liquid soap dispenser rested on his chest; it's cool metal surface leaching even more body heat out of him. He summoned all his will and succeeded in closing his mouth.

Resting for a moment, Harold tried again. His lips writhed, struggling to form syllables.

“H-help....” he whispered. “please...”

Finch sucked in a deep breath. _“John....”_

His fading strength at last gave out and the recluse slipped into blackness.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_St. Sebastian State Mental Facility_

"He was admitted three months ago. Someone reported him wandering along the highway and the authorities brought him here. No ID, no records...nothing on file for him."

"What are his symptoms?"

"He's suffering from a persecution complex augmented by severe paranoia, agitation and the delusion that he's a Wall-Street business tycoon. He was ranting almost non-stop after the sedative we gave him at admissions wore off...claiming the woman who found him, kidnapped him." Dr. Silvers laughed quietly. 

The visitor raised an eyebrow. 

"He was mostly incoherent but from what we could make out, he thinks he's got more money than God. He kept trying to bribe us into giving him access to a cellphone...said he'd pay us however much we wanted."

The visiting psychiatrist peered through the observation window at the fragile looking man swathed in a green hospital robe. The man's brownish-gray hair was clean, if unkempt...growing out in wild tufts from his scalp. At present, he was seated and staring at the far wall of the commons room. His face was haggard; sporting a grizzled beard. Dr. Silvers read the other physician's expression and smiled.

"We can't give him access to razors, he took one apart when he first arrived and tried to pick an outside door lock with the blade strips...that was before we put him on the pharmaceuticals of course. We had no choice as he was disrupting the other patients and constantly attempting to escape." 

"Well, your _Mr. Smith_ seems calm enough now." 

"Mmmm...thanks to the sedatives we have him on." Dr. Silvers tapped the file in the other psychiatrist's hand. "Take a look at his physical condition upon arrival."

"Signs of malnutrition and poor hygiene, alcohol abuse...consistent with what one would find from someone living homeless...." the visitor paused in his recitation as he read further.

"Fused cervical vertebrae and hip stabilization? How was he injured?"

Dr. Silvers shrugged.

"We don't know and so far he's been unwilling to tell us. The medical hardware implanted to correct his skeletal traumas and the resulting scars appear to indicate his injuries were sustained about three years ago."

He rubbed a speculative finger over his lips as he studied his patient. 

“When we realized the extent of the injuries, the hospital administrator ordered pain-management medication be added to his current regimen. The side-effects of that drug meant we could decrease his sedative dosage and the two combined work very well in regards to keeping him calm. He‘s been much less talkative though. Hard to get any background on him really.”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

__**present time**

Ensconced in a battered leather chair, Harold Finch stared into the middle distance. The powerful narcotics in his bloodstream kept him prisoner here more effectively than the concrete block walls that surrounded him. What tiny bit of cognitive ability that remained to him made a valiant attempt to process his world in terms that his compromised awareness could understand. Confronted by such adversity, his psyche fell back on what it knew best. He was a component of C Drive. There were three kinds of beings in this System: **greens** , **whites** and **blues**. 

The **blues** acted directly on the C Drive, managing resources and providing common services as all OS programs should. Most of the **blues** however were sluggish, indifferent; functioning at 50% efficiency or less. A few were actively attacking the System. Those he was wary of...especially the **blue** unit known as Jason Holston. 

It was however, **The White** that Harold feared most. Other **whites** came and went. That they must be part of portable drives was the best theory Harold could work out. They monitored, observed and left. But **The White** , she was the Admin of C Drive. 

Each time that Harold was close to recovering lost bytes of his memory, **The White** had him restrained, stabbed his arm and sent him back into the confused depths of his mind before he could assimilate the missing pieces. He seemed to be less than complete. Needing to do something...of having some function that he knew was his task alone to perform. This, coupled with a sense of incompleteness....of _lacking_ , unsettled him. 

In his most lucid moments Harold knew there was a companion program that had been removed from him...severely debilitating his functionality. Until that program could be restored, he knew he would never be able to accurately read C Drive. That was his function _here_. 

Harold and his fellow **greens** were being contained in the C Drive for some purpose that was, as yet, unknown. Within the ranks of the **greens** there were many variations. Some were angry, hostile; seeking to cause chaos and harm...those were Malware. Some wanted only to help, to co-operate, to fix...those were Patches. 

Others, like himself watched and waited. Observing the system's patterns and functions, learning how it worked. They were Boxes. As far as Harold could tell, he was the only BlackBox in the System. All others of his kind were WhiteBox; infinitely more familiar with the System than himself. This was to be expected of course, they had been integrated much longer than he had. It frustrated the newer **green** sometimes though. Added to that was the fact that his efficiency was compromised due to his faulty vision. It seemed that at one time, he _had_ been able to see more clearly. 

“Hello Mr. Smith.” 

A warm voice penetrated Finch’s thoughts although he made no attempt to acknowledge the greeting. He was aware of a solidly built female **blue** sitting down next to him. _Unit Harriet Barnes, designation: ‘Harry’._

Inside, Harold felt his spirit lift a tiny bit. Unlike the other **blues** , Unit Harry was the only OS function performing at 100%. She was efficient and assisted wherever she was needed. He looked forward to the times when she interfaced with him. Unit Harry was.... _kind_. It took the recluse a moment to find the adjective in his thoughts. By necessity, Harold's psyche had suppressed most of his emotional responses. Cold logic and statistics were his coping mechanisms in this environment and by the reckoning of his drug-soaked perceptions, they served him well. 

Orderly Barnes regarded the older man sitting next to her and wondered for the thousandth time who he was. 

Harry stood exactly six feet and wore her dark brown hair in a fifties style crew cut. Multiple holes in each earlobe were bare, the silver loops she normally wore having been removed before she came on duty. Her eyes were hazel and most often reflected a spark of good humor. 

She was muscular but Harry’s strength came from hard labor, not a weight machine. Years of working with geriatric and mental patients, coupled with her experience in physical therapy had toned her more than working out a gym ever could have. 

The orderly had noticed Finch from his first day on her ward. Compared to the other residents, he seemed so fragile; as if a strong breeze might topple him. Harry sensed there was more to the man than that. She noted the way his eyes scanned the commons room...taking in every detail and action, for what purpose she couldn’t guess. 

Unlike the other caregivers though, Harriet Barnes knew that ‘Mr. Smith’ was very much aware of his surroundings. The medications he was on limited his range of movements but she had felt the need to try and engage him in some fashion. 

“I brought something for you today, Mr. Smith.” 

Harry’s voice was deep for a woman's; closer to a tenor than an alto. A stray thought penetrated Finch’s brain and he found himself wondering what she would sound like if she sang. 

The orderly gestured to a table a few yards away. “Want to take a look?” 

A slight twitch of his head indicated his willingness. None of the other **blues** would have noticed the movement, but like all Boxes, Harold augmented his monitoring of the System with tests on different programs. Unit Harry had passed all interface tests to date with flying colors. The woman nodded and got to her feet. She held out an arm to the older man. 

Also unlike the other **blues** , who would move him around with force, Harry waited for him to take her arm and use the support to raise himself up. She let him set the pace and only provided a steadying hand on his back if needed. 

Harold shuffled over to the table Harry had indicated, releasing the orderly’s arm at the last moment before easing himself down into a chair. He stared at it's surface, unsure what the **blue** wanted of him. Finch felt Harry take his hand in gentle fingers and place it on a stack of drawing sheets. She moved his other hand to a box of chalk pastels. 

“They won’t let me give you pencils or pens, Mr. Smith....I’m sorry. The pastels have a great range of colors though. I hope you like them.” 

Ms. Barnes closed her hand over Finch’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. “You can draw as long as you want, even until supper. I’ll be over here if you need me.” 

Harry stepped away and left him to his own devices. Finch continued to sit without moving for a good ten minutes. At last he eased open the pastel box and fixated on the riot of colors it contained. _Chalk; CaCO3. Calcium carbonate composite; poly-chromatic spectrum of shades....paper, surface, receptive to input of various mediums._

As if on autopilot, he picked up the royal and gray sticks; limning in what became a pair of intense blue eyes. Without his glasses most of Finch's world was a blur but at this close distance, the chalk lines were relatively clear. 

Harold lost track of the time as he worked on his drawing. He was unaware of the warning bell for the evening meal and only came back to the present with a start when Harriet Barnes stood once again at his shoulder. 

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Smith.” The woman’s voice was full of awe. 

Harold dropped the umber stick back into the box and folded his hands in his lap again. The tanned face of a black-haired man just going gray at the temples stared up at him from the paper, his head in three-quarter profile; a slight smirk twisting one corner of his mouth. Harold wasn’t sure why looking into the picture‘s blue eyes made him sad. 

“Is he someone you know? A friend of yours?” Harry prompted. 

Harold made an inarticulate sound of distress, jerking back into his chair. 

“Mr. Smith....I'm sorry....” 

The **blue** unit put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Harold stilled. The warmth from the orderly’s fingers penetrated the cold despair that had enveloped him. He swallowed a couple of times. 

“What’s wrong Harriet?” 

Harry felt Mr. Smith’s muscles bunch up underneath her hand as the Head Nurse left her station to join them. 

“Everything’s fine Nurse Gilman. Mr. Smith just got a little excited...he’s alright now.” 

Harry noted the way the inmate’s eyes flickered towards her supervisor before his gaze dropped to the floor. He was trembling, just enough for the caregiver to feel it and she squeezed his shoulder again. 

_It was_ **The White** _....she was going to restrain him and interfere with his programming...just like she always did. Harold wanted to escape, to hide so far down in the bowels of C Drive that she would never be able to find him. His tremors were kept in check only by the hand touching him. The_ **blue** _unit was buffering his interface with_ **The White** _, protecting his continuity of operations._

“Perhaps he needs an additional dosage of sedative.” 

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Ma’am. See? He’s calmed down again." 

Harold picked up on the **blue's** verbal coding and made himself relax...slumping into the chair as much as his fused spine would allow. His mind disengaged from the present and concentrated on old code strings that appeared in his memory. He vaguely wondered what program they were for. 

Nurse Gilman eyed the somnolent man. Her orders regarding Mr. Smith were very clear and came directly from the hospital administrator. Under no circumstances was he to be allowed access to any technology, not even a television or landline phone. And he was never, ever to be taken off the medications prescribed for him. 

Whatever had agitated him seemed to have passed and the Head Nurse gave a curt nod. 

“Fine Harriet. Take Mr. Smith back to his room and see that he’s fed. Then return to your regular duties.” 

“Yes Ma’am.” 

Nurse Gilman’s white oxfords squeaked across the tiles as she went back to her station. The orderly sighed in relief, patting her patient’s shoulder again. 

“Well, we fooled the old harpy, Mr. Smith.” 

_flicker of amusement at the_ **blue's** _new designation name for_ **The White**. 

Harry went to fetch the wheelchair that the staff used to move him from room to room. She only resorted to it when time was short, preferring (as did Harold) to let the man walk on his own as much as possible. 

"Let’s get you home. I’ll hang your drawing up while you eat, alright?" 

As the **blue** assisted him into the chair, Harold felt a sense of depression steal over him. _‘Home’....it seemed that he had been part of a different Drive at once time; the same drive that his missing program belonged to._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

NOTES: It seemed fitting to me that if Finch’s reasoning were impaired that he would perceive his current reality in terms of computers. Hardware, software, coding strings...these are all familiar and comfortable territory for Harold. Hopefully, my variations on these interpretations aren’t too confusing! 


	2. Alone

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter II: Alone  
Rating: R to NC-17 (violence and sexual situations in future chapters)  
Pairing: Possible Finch/Reese in future chapters

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

The man known to a very few as John Reese was drowning in quiet panic. It had been six months since Root kidnapped his partner. Six months of….nothing. Despite his recruitment of Carter and Fusco's assistance. Despite his direct appeal to Finch's creation, there had been no glimpse; not a word or hint of the recluse's whereabouts. 

Reese replayed the events of the first few days after Finch's abduction in his mind…..

_Immediately following his one-sided conversation with the traffic camera, an adjacent payphone began ringing. Unsure of just what would follow, Reese picked up the handset. A synthesized voice repeated an address that the op recognized at once as the library._

_When he reached their base of operations, John found one of the monitor screens powered up and displaying a text box._

**subject: Admin/Sysop**

**status: location UNKNOWN**

**action: initiate 'lost & found' protocol  
y or n…………………**

_Reese quickly hit the Y key and ENTER. Code strings began rolling over the black surface. He waited for some minutes, eyes scanning the digital hemorrhage of characters for anything that looked halfway familiar. At last the search ended and a new window appeared._

**subject: 'lost & found' protocol initiated**

**status: search completed, Admin/Sysop location UNKNOWN**

**action: initiate continual network search y or n…………**

_John repeated his instruction sequence and once again the monitor regurgitated code at him. The window minimized leaving three lines of script at the bottom of the screen._

**subject: john reese**

**status: asset**

**action: restricted network access granted**

_Reese had been so staggered to see this message appear that he sat down hard in Harold's chair. The lines vanished; to be replaced by a flashing cursor. The op reached out, his hands hovering over the keyboard, almost as if he feared retribution for violating Finch's sacred space. He typed a command, then another and another as the same results appeared._

**search: harold finch**

**ACCESS DENIED**

**search: finch, harold**

**ACCESS DENIED**

**search: harold wren**

**ACCESS DENIED**

**search: john reese**

**ACCESS DENIED**

_About to give up in frustration, Reese tried once more._

**search: lionel fusco**

**ACCESS GRANTED**

 

_Several windows popped up, showing the detective's work and personal information as well as his bank statements and tax records. John grunted in grudging admiration. Apparently, Harold's fickle creation would allow him access to things that would enable him to better utilize his assets but not research himself or the recluse. Even Finch's contingencies had their secrets it seemed._

_Reese closed each of the windows on Fusco, after wincing at the current state of his finances. "No wonder Lionel was so easily recruited by HR."_

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Since that day, the Machine would periodically display a nine digit number. It would allow Reese access to the network to research their new assignment and any auxiliary information it found that related to the 'irrelevant'.

John would also check the continual search box multiple times a day, sometimes sitting and staring at the strings of data scrolling down the screen for hours…hoping, _praying_ for the damned computer to find something.

Six months he'd been trying to cope and knowing in his heart of hearts that he was slowly falling apart. It took longer and longer to neutralize either the number or the threat with each new identity they were given. Carter and Fusco kept asking questions about Finch until at last the op had blown up at them both and stalked off. That had been four days ago and neither detective had contacted him since. 

Reese sat at Harold's desk now, once again watching the data stream and close to despair. _I can't do what he does. I can't be him….I_ don't _want to be._ The op scowled at the screen in front of him.

_I have to find him, get him back....I need him...._

John slammed his fist down on the desk, cursing as he shook out his hand, hoping that he hadn't broken anything. 

What was Root doing to his friend? Harold looked so weak and inoffensive but John knew better. Finch was one of the bravest, most determined men the op had ever met. Harold was tough in his own way and could withstand more than most people gave him credit for.

Caroline Turing was in a class by herself however. Brilliant, inventive and more ruthless than Mark Snow could ever hope to be.

Reese stood up and began to pace. He had to move, to think….true he was good at strategy and logistics but he wasn't the master of the game that Finch was. Harold had plans on top of contingencies on top of damage controls in place for any scenario.

Wherever Root had taken Harold, he either had no access to a computer or was too incapacitated to do so. It also had to be somewhere without a surveillance system, otherwise his Machine would have found some sign of him by now. 

If he were…..if Finch were dead then Root would have resurfaced, have given some sign to the op, if only for the pleasure of seeing his pain.

That meant Finch was still alive….he _had_ to be.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**


	3. Continuity Disruption

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter III: Continuity Disruption  
Rating: R to NC-17 (violence and physical/emotional abuse)  
Pairing: Possible Finch/Reese in future chapters

 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_06:00 hours._ Finch knew this by the intensity of the gray light filtering through the frosted glass window of his chamber. He pulled the woven cotton blanket tighter around himself, fighting down a shiver.

It was cold in the C Drive now. Systems functioned best at 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Lower than that but still above freezing would not overly effect most OSs but C Drive had special programming....contained in units of flesh and blood. These must be preserved and protected. Surely **The White** would take this into account. There must be a thermal regulating function in place. 

Harold heard the bell that indicated it was time for the BlackBox to begin another operating cycle. He no longer thought in terms of days or months but of program scheduling. All interactions were monitored by the System Admin, and **The White** was very strict about time intervals.

_72 hour interval between last cleaner function interface. Next interface due in 29.5 minutes._

Harold extricated himself from the blanket and forced his drug-slack muscles to pull him into a sitting position. The recluse gasped, sweat breaking out on his forehead from the exertion and sat for a moment. He had to be up and standing when the **blue** units came for him. Only once, when he first arrived and still too new to have synchronized to C Drive’s system clock, had he been hauled out of bed by the **blue** unit, Jason Holston. 

Harold had spent the remainder of that day in a restraint chair. He was humiliated at having soiled himself after hours of confinement; then at not being allowed to bathe or change until the next day. He had been wary of unit Holston since. The orderly had taken it upon himself to monitor the BlackBox’s functions closely but this **blue** was anything but helpful.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Harold was relieved to see that one of the indifferent **blues** had charge of him today. He didn’t know the unit’s name, just that it was male and gave him only enough of its attention to make certain the **green** made it to the shower block. This **blue** leaned against the tiled wall and began texting code to some other program.

“Get on with it, Loopy. Don’t make me wait all day for you.”

Finch removed the t-shirt and loose scrub pants and left them on the bench by the stall. With deliberation, he limped into the square tile enclosure, stepping off to one side as the **blue** turned on the spray and adjusted the temperature. The unit resumed its prior position and continued sending code. 

Harold breathed in as the lukewarm water pelted his skin. Days when the cleaner cycle was due could be either positive or negative. Today was positive and he made good use of the unit’s distraction to give himself a thorough cleaning. His movements became more assured as he worked the soap into his hair. 

Sticking his head under the flow of water, he stood with his palms against the wall as it rinsed away the cleanser. It seemed his perceptions were more acute than usual this cycle. Harold was aware of the smell of mildew coming from the drains and the cracked texture of the worn tiles beneath his fingers.

_Flash of memory....books; guns...taste of tea?_ Harold gave his head a shake, the shower spray helping to clear the fading chemical fog in his brain. _“I think all you ever wanted to do was help people....”_

Finch’s facial muscles twitched, brows furrowing as he struggled to remember. _Low, rumbling laugh...on his knees, adjusting a pants cuff...blue eyes... “help people...help people...” Outdoors.....a park....tunnel....words....machine....”lied to you.....I never will!”_

“Hey Frankie.”

“Jason, ‘sup man? You’re early.”

The two **blues** exchanged greetings. Oblivious, Harold continued to search his memories.

_A face....the face from his drawing....companion program? His firewall? No! His partner....former CIA operative Reese; first name...._

“John....” 

Harold's eyes snapped open as the last of the drugs cleared from his system. _His name was Harold Finch. He and John Reese worked to protect the numbers that his Machine fed them. He had been kidnapped by Caroline Turing six months ago and incarcerated in this facility for half of that time._ The recluse looked around the communal bathroom, trying to get his bearings. 

He was in Ward C of St. Sebastian’s, a state run mental health hospital. He had to find a way out...to, _wait_!

Finch at last became aware that there were two interns at the shower doorway. He also heard the quiet chime that indicated a received text message. _One of them has a cellphone._ Leaving the water running Harold eased out of the stall, mentally cursing at how slow his weakened body was. 

He reached for his clothes when a mocking voice hailed him.

“Where you goin’, _Gimpy_?”

Finch turned to see orderly Holston grinning at him, the pale blue eyes cold and hostile. He didn’t bother to answer. Harold picked up his pants and started to unfold them.

“I asked you a question old man.” Jason moved up until he was on top of the recluse; shoving him hard against the tile wall. Finch gasped in pain as the pins in his vertebrae were pinched by the pressure.

“You too good to answer me?” He pushed harder and Harold yelped at the lance of fire that spiked down his back.

“Let me go...” he gasped out.

Jason’s eyes widened in amazement. “What?”

“I said, let me go!” Harold spoke again, anger roughening his tone.

The intern peered into Finch’s face...although his gaze was unfocused without his glasses, the older man's pupils were contracting and dilating in a normal manner.

“ _Shit!_ Frankie? Get in here!”

“What?” Still texting, the other intern walked through the door. Harold’s eyes darted towards the dark blue G4 device in the young man’s hands. 

_If he could just get that phone.....true he couldn’t read without his glasses but the day Harold Finch couldn’t navigate a mobile keyboard blind would be the day he died._

“Did you stick him this morning?”

“Mmm?”

“Put that god-damned ‘Droid down and listen to me!”

Frankie did so at once, picking up on the urgency in his friend’s voice.

“Did you _stick_ him before you brought him to the showers?”

“No man...there wasn’t time and he was still higher than a kite...I was gonna do it before break-”

“Well he’s not now! You know what Gilman said! She’s gonna _freak_ if she finds out he’s off his meds. Put your cell in your locker and get back here with his dose. _Move motherfucker!!_ ”

Frankie hi-tailed it for the dispensary and Jason turned back to stare at Harold with speculation. 

“You been weird ever since you got here old man.” Jason smirked at Finch. “Knocking you around when you’re out of it is pretty boring but now that you know what’s going on? This could be fun.”

Finch’s chest rose and fell as he tried to process everything that had happened to him in the past half-year. His resentment and fury at the things Turing had done to him, coupled with his confinement in this hell-hole suddenly boiled over.

_“Get your filthy, Neanderthal hands off me, you mouth-breathing slug.”_ He growled.

Bracing his good leg against the wall, Harold levered his uninjured side forward. The adrenaline fueled move was just enough to break the unsuspecting intern’s hold on him and he pulled himself out the man’s grasp. The recluse made it to the bathroom entrance before Holston shoved him hard, knocking him to the floor.

“Fuck you, Crip! You’re gonna pay for that.” 

The intern straddled Finch’s torso and holding him down with one arm proceeded to punch him in the stomach. Jason backhanded him across the mouth, splitting Harold’s lip and causing him to scream in pain as the scarred muscles in his neck were wrenched. Sparks exploded behind his eyes as the abused tissues began to seize, contracting around the titanium plates attached to his bones.

“That hurt old man? Well too...fuckin’...bad!” Holton punctuated each word with another blow to Finch’s chest, forcing the breath out of the other man in agonized grunts. He stood up and unzipping his fly; the intern exposed himself and urinated on Harold.

“That’s all you’re worth, you old faggot.” Jason shook his penis, the last few drops landing on Finch’s cheek. “Pity once you get your meds, you won’t remember this.”

Finch lay helpless in the cooling puddle of urine; muscle spasms causing his body to jerk awkwardly . Between the battering he’d taken from Holston’s blows and the continued waves of agony radiating through his neck and spine, he was unable to lift a finger. He heard the sound of someone running back towards the showers and couldn’t stop himself from hoping that it might be help.

Frankie skidded to a stop, capped syringe in hand and looked down on the twitching patient.

_“Whatthefuck happened?”_

“Gimpy fell down and pissed himself.”

Both interns started laughing. Jason immobilized Finch’s arm while Frankie injected him with the sedative/narcotic cocktail.

“No!” Harold tried to struggle but the drugs were fast-acting. As his awareness began to slip away from him again, Finch remembered that he had no allies in the hospital; no-one that he could really trust. No-one who would help him except, perhaps..... _one. The_ **blue** _, Unit Harry, had ever been a supportive function....but she was only one of many._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**


	4. Remote Connections

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter IV: Remote Connections  
Rating: R to NC-17  
Pairing: Possible Finch/Reese in future chapters

NOTES: The webaddy below is just a plot device, it doesn't actually go anywhere. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Billions of bits of data transferred through millions of wires every second of every day....a cacophony of voices overlapping one another, each one more insistent than the rest that its news is the most important, relevant, profitable, heart-breaking, joyful. Millions of other voices, data streams, videos, emails, strings of code bouncing back and forth in the naked air. Invisible to _human_ senses perhaps but not to the technological wunderkind built by one man's hands and birthed by the combined wills of two.

This remarkable device was scanning, analyzing, dissecting each and every byte that filtered through its network.....searching.....searching for any sign, however small of its target. Circuit boards and solder cannot process urgency or fear.....wires and silicon don’t comprehend sadness or anger....or hopelessness. Where a man might have given up, The Machine worked tirelessly; never having to wrestle with the emotional demons that plagued its asset. No, it was prey to none of these weaknesses and so it examined and re-examined everything that it found...looking for any connection, no matter how thin, to locate its Admin.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

**_Oct. 23rd, 2012 at 9:47 PM_ **  
**_orderly98_ **  
**_After reading so many articles and posts about it, I decided to try art therapy with one of our patients. Although he had limited cognitive ability, I thought that he might benefit from the effort._ **

**_Everyone has a patient now and then that they connect with, for whatever reason and Smith had touched something in me. I wanted to reach out to him and see if I could bring him back to the world._ **

**_I really didn’t expect much...honestly, I thought he’d sit there and do nothing for as long as I cared to leave him at the table. But after about ten minutes, Smith began to draw. Where this came from I don’t know. He’s not able to articulate very well and I didn’t want to agitate him but the results of my therapy session with him were startling to me to say the least._**

**_Take a look for yourselves:_**  
 ** _www mindheal/intern98/album4/smith1_**

 

**.....searching**

**.....searching**

**.....reference located**

**.....asset: john reese**

**.....tag reference**

**.....locating IP interface**

**.....searching**

**.....searching**

**.....interface located**

 

**status: reference located**  
 **subject: asset john reese**  
 **file type: digital image....jpg**  
 **action: relay reference**

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

John Reese was attempting to rest. His lean frame was stretched out on one of the over-stuffed leather sofas in the library reading room. Their latest number had taken them on a wild chase through three boroughs and a cemetery before Fusco and Carter (both of whom were speaking to him again) caught up with the would be bank robber. 

Reese hadn’t even bothered showing up to see that the man was brought into custody. He found he just didn’t care. Returning to his base of operations, he’d kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the cushions; closing his eyes and running through one of the mental exercises the CIA had taught him to help him relax enough to sleep.

It _did_ work, Reese knows this because he has used it many times before. He’s been able catch zs in the middle of a night blitz in Baghdad and on a SEAL zodiac bouncing over choppy water en route to an aircraft carrier. It _had_ worked...but the power of the mantra now deserted him. His concentration deserted him. The op knows he’s become a ship without a rudder and he’s foundering hard.... _fighting tooth and nail_ just to keep from sinking too deeply...from losing all hope of finding Finch.

Instead of drifting into sleep; John Reese’s mind kept tossing snippets of memories at him from nearly seven months ago. Just before Turing’s number came up, John had issued an invitation for Harold to come to dinner. The op expected the fiercely private man to decline and was pleased when Finch agreed.

 

_“Shall I bring anything, Mr. Reese?”_

_“I’ll do all the cooking but bring your favorite wine...just let me know beforehand whether it will be red or white so I can plan accordingly.”_

_Finch looked lost in thought for a moment, then a small smile spread across his lips. “It’s late spring, yet already hot enough for summer. Something light and easy on the palate would do, I think. White Mr. Reese, most definitely white.”_

_“Sounds good. I’ll make some plans and how about.....Thursday? Next week?”_

_“Very good Mr. Reese. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the place.”_

The next day anther number appeared, another irrelevant needed help and this time things went any way but smoothly. Things came to a head and just before all hell broke loose, John had sent Caroline out to meet Finch’s car.

 

_"Turing's on her way to you."_

_John heard Harold's intake of breath in response to the gunshots going off on Reese's end. "I think I'm going to be a little held up."_

_"I'll get Ms. Turing to safety and I'll come back for you John." The agitation in Finch’s voice was palpable._

_The op grinned and tried to settle his partner. “Remember, when this is all over dinner’s on me.”_

_“I look forward to it, Mr. Reese.”_

Then John’s world had literally fallen apart. Turing gone, Finch abducted...Alicia Corwin lying on the docks with the back of her head missing and no sign of where Harold had disappeared to. The op was so wrapped up in self-recrimination at his failure to find his friend that he didn’t hear the quiet chime from Finch’s workstation.

The chime came again, loud enough this time to penetrate Reese’s thoughts. In one fluid movement he rose from the sofa and settled himself in the vintage wooden chair in front of the main monitor.

A textbox had opened, its border flashing red and green.

 

**status: reference located**  
 **subject: asset john reese**  
 **file type: digital image.... jpg**  
 **action: relay reference**

**display digital image: y or n.........**

 

John typed Y and ENTER immediately.

An image appeared on the screen. It was a drawing, done in chalk by the looks of it. The resolution of Finch’s monitors made the lingering traces of dust visible to Reese’s eyes. The op was stunned...a man’s face looked back at him but not the picture of Harold that he assumed he would see. 

John Reese stared into his own eyes, as surely if he’d been looking in a mirror.

_“What the hell?!”_

**subject: IP interface detected**  
 **status: IP source located**  
 **action: display IP information: y or n.....**

 

John’s command input was a foregone conclusion. A stream of data filled the screen, almost obscuring the cursor near the bottom. It blinked, waiting for him to tell it what to do. The computer information did him no good...he didn’t know how to interpret it. What Reese needed was a physical location to investigate. He typed in another command, hoping that Harold had made his system as user friendly as possible.

**-display IP interface location**

The same data stream reappeared on the monitor. Reese tried again.

**-display IP interface location, map**  
 **COMMAND INVALID**

**-map IP interface location**  
 **COMMAND INVALID**

**-map IP interface connection point**  
 **COMMAND INVALID**

“God-damn it! How am I supposed to talk to you?! I need you to show me where this computer is located.” 

Reese’s frustration was building with each failed attempt to get the information. His breath caught as he watched the screen wipe itself clean. “NO! Bring the code back!”

One text string appeared in the centre of the screen.

**-display geographic location of IP interface connection**  
 **point: y or n.....**

“Yes for God’s sake!” Reese yelled as he typed in the command. An address appeared on the screen, along with a map plotting the most direct route to a small town upstate. _Shit! Finch had been in New York this entire time?!_ Another text box popped up.

**subject: IP interface geographic location found**  
 **status: IP interface location displayed**  
 **action: GPS information relayed to mobile device of asset: john reese**

Reese’s phone chirped and he accessed his messages. The GPS ap on his device opened, displaying in miniature the same information on Finch’s computer. The op leapt to his feet, hope surging through him.

“I’m going now....I’ll get him. I’ll bring him home!” 

Before John had reached the stairs, Finch’s monitor had gone blank. The only sign that it was still operational was a single blinking cursor at the very bottom of the screen.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**


	5. System Test

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter V: Testing the System  
Rating: R to NC-17  
Characters: Finch & Reese

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_12 miles NE of Canandaigua, NY_

 

Reese had made good time in his drive north. The route the Machine had plotted for him was longer in regards to mileage but the lack of traffic he encountered meant the op could break any number of speed limits along the way.

He arrived in Hastings Township just after ten o'clock; parking two streets over from the address on his phone. John kept to the treeline, staying out of sight and moving easily through the suburban neighborhood until he stood on the back porch of an old Victorian home. 

Reese scanned the door and window frames for any sign of a security system. The homeowner appeared to be either disdainful of modern technology or very trusting of his neighbors. Either way the op's entry was assured to be a quiet one. John picked the locks with an ease that was almost insulting to his skills and slipped inside.

He stood in the dark kitchen, ears straining to pick up the ambient noises of the house. He could hear two people moving around upstairs and the muted sound of conversation through the old walls. The op moved as quietly as possible through the dining room to the living area. The interior of the house was neat and well-kept. It's furniture was an eclectic mixture of styles but it all spoke of the care given by an owner that loved the property. 

John noticed a cluster of framed photographs hanging on one wall and moved over to examine them.

_"What the fuck?!"_

The op started, turning in his tracks to see a powerfully built woman clad in teal sweatpants and a gray sportsbra standing behind him. She snatched a police night-stick from the umbrella stand next to her. It wasn't often that someone was able to get the drop on him but her bare feet explained how she'd managed to do so.

Reese looked her over, noting her alert stance and easy grip on the weapon. _She knows how to use it and has._

"Get the hell out of my house!"

He ignored the command, closing the distance between them. The woman stood her ground, raising the stick into a ready position.

"Where is he?" 

"I said _get out!_ "

"Ettie? What's going on?" a voice carried through from the hallway. A petite blonde woman wearing an elegant silk robe entered the living room just as the short-haired woman moved to place herself in front of the newcomer.

"Sally, go back into the bedroom and call 911."

Reese took in the subtle changes in both womens' body language. Ettie's attitude radiated protective anger. She wouldn't go down without a fight and she was certainly not going to let him anywhere near her partner.

The blonde stepped around her lover and pulled a pistol out of her pocket, pointing it at the intruder.

"Put your hands up asshole.... _NOW!_ " She cocked the .38 and aimed at Reese's head. 

John did as she ordered. Although her physique was slighter and more curvaceous than her companion's; the blonde woman was fit it was obvious she had used the gun before. Sally held the firearm with a familiarity that came only from constant handling. If he had seen her on the street, the op would have written her off as some businessman's high-maintenance mistress. 

"Sally....I said,"

"Ettie, I love you but if you don't stop playing the _butch_ card on me, I'll shoot you instead."

The blonde scowled up at him. "Now who the hell are you and why are you in our house?"

"Where is he? One of you knows where he's at. Tell me now and no-one will get hurt."

Both women eyed him like he was speaking gibberish. 

"Ettie?"

The brunette shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the stranger. "I have no idea, Sal. Who the fuck are you talking....wait-" she broke off and moved to one side. "Keep him covered..."

John turned slightly to keep the taller woman in his field of vision as she backed up to the wall. She flipped a switch and the lights on the ceiling fan snapped on. Her eyes widened in recognition.

"Holy shit! You're _him!_ " she breathed. "Sal, it's him....it's the man in the drawing!" The brunette lowered her stick. "Have you come to get him? He's not here...we don't have him."

"Ettie what in the name of Nina Simone is going on?"

"Where is he?" Reese moved a step forward before Sally stopped him with a gesture from the pistol.

The brunette stared at him thoughtfully for a moment. "The face in Mr. Smith's drawing, Sally. _Remember?_ I showed it to you and then...."

"You posted it online.” John interrupted. “I tracked the IP address back to here and I want to know where _he_ is."

"You _have_ come for him, haven't you?"

Reese nodded, still unsure as to the womens' motives. His instincts were telling him that they weren't party to Root's abduction of Finch. That at least the brunette, Ettie, knew something about it however was obvious.

"I think we're on the same page, mister...." she lifted her eyebrows in inquiry.

"Just call me John."

"Of course....." she replied, her voice tinged with mockery. "Can I assume that if Sally lowers her gun you'll be sensible and talk instead of trying something stupid?"

"As long as I get the information I need then that works for me. I don't have a lot of time though."

The brunette's eyes grew sad. "You have more time than you think, John. Mr. Smith isn't going anywhere fast, but you do need to get him."

"You have seen him then?"

"Not for almost a month. The harpy fired me after....." the taller woman broke off, chuffing in remembered anger. "Sally....it's okay, stand down."

The blonde lowered her pistol and looked from Reese to her lover in confusion. "It's okay, well great...that's just _fine_.” her voice dripped sarcasm. 

"There's a strange man standing in our living room...one who obviously broke in...and you're talking to him about that guy at the hospital." 

Sally set the revolver down on a side table and planted both fists on her hips in annoyance; glaring at the taller woman. Reese was startled to see her partner wilt under the blonde’s disapproval...exactly as he had the few times when Jessica was angry with him.

Ettie held out her hands placatingly. "Sweetheart...look,"

"What have I told you about patronizing me, Harriet Regina?" Sally's green eyes snapped with fury. "I swear to God, I might as well be with a man...."

"I'm sorry...." Harriet said quietly, laying a hand on her partner's shoulder. "I'll tell you everything. Just be patient, alright?"

"Fine....I'm going to change and will you _please_ put a shirt on? We don't need to have this discussion with your boobs hanging out all over creation." Sally stalked back out of the room.

The brunette sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. Reese noted the glint of gold on one finger.

“How long have you two been married?” The op’s voice was sympathetic rather than judgmental.

“Together for fourteen, official the last six.” She held her hand out to him. “Look, I’m still pissed that you broke in but now that we’re not trying to kill each other, we can at least be polite. I’m Harriet Barnes...but call me Harry.”

“John Reese.” John took her hand, noting the firmness of Harry’s grip and liking her for it. He gave her his lopsided smirk.

_“Harry and....Sally?”_

“Yes and if you make one movie reference I will pick that gun back up and put an extra hole in your ass.” The blonde’s snarky comment echoed down the hall.  
Harry rolled her eyes and shrugged into a sleeveless t-shirt that was lying on the back of the sofa.

The brunette indicated that he take a seat, then moved over to pick up the .38 and unload it. “I hate it when she carries this thing....but she’s saved our bacon with it more than a few times.”

John eased himself down into the overstuffed armchair and took a moment to look around the room. The far wall was taken up by bookcases, crammed tight with volumes even stacked sideways along their tops. A nice flatscreen television was mounted to the wall in front of the seating group. Reese noted the vast DVD collection next to it....mostly film noir and classic mystery titles. Harry followed his gaze.

“Yeah...I’m a bit of a hard-boiled detective fan.” she shrugged. “Sal is much more ladylike.”

“Only because you dress and act like a stevedore.” The blonde replied as she entered the room again. Harry stood up and turned a smile on her partner. John struggled to his feet, his eyes popping.

Sally had traded her robe for an emerald green dress. Although it was simple in design, it had to have been tailored to her....the satin clung to her curves like a second skin and the color played off her eyes, making them shimmer. Her golden hair had been freed from its ponytail and now floated around her shoulders like a halo. She wore no make up and in John’s opinion didn’t need it.

“Close your mouth and shake my hand. I'm Sally Reynolds-Barnes, Mr. Reese.” The blonde’s handclasp was just as dainty as the rest of her.

“ I’d say pleased to meet you but the jury’s still out on that.” Pleasantries dispensed with, Sally took her lover’s hand and sank down onto the sofa. Her sharp green gaze pinned the op to his chair.

“So just why are you trespassing?”

John gave them a heavily edited version of the events of the past six months, ending with his ‘discovery’ of Harry’s post on a mental health professionals blog site. Both women watched him like a hawk and Reese felt a bit uncomfortable under their combined scrutiny.

“So your photo of the drawing led me here.” He looked at Harry, who was shaking her head in amazement. “ _You’re_ the one who’s spoken to Harold...who’s seen him. I have to know where he is, Harry....please.”

“I wish it were that simple, John.” The taller woman leaned towards him. “I never learned his first name...he was always referred to as Mr. Smith in his records and that’s what I called him. He was admitted about four months ago."

"Admitted?"

"Until last month, I worked as an orderly at St. Sebastian's....it's a mental hospital. I wasn't stationed in the admissions area but after the first 48 hours the resident psychiatrists will decide where to put new patients. Mr. Smith wound up on my floor, Ward C." 

John stood up and began pacing. “A mental hospital.... _that bitch_...” He stared down at Harry with haunted eyes. “What types of patients were on your ward?”

“Catatonic or semi-catatonic inmates. A few, like Mr. Smith had lowered mobility due to the drugs they took. He could walk, very slowly; shower and feed himself but he didn’t speak.”

“No-one that would ask questions...." Reese surmised. "So he was out of it then...”

Harry shook her head. “Quite the contrary. His cognitive abilities were hindered by the medication sure but he was very aware of his surroundings. It took time, but you just had to learn his cues.” She scowled as she remembered.

“I was the only one on the ward who bothered with the patients. The others just moved them around like so many breathing sides of beef. I thought it would be good to see if I could engage his interest so I brought in some paper and the pastels. That was the same day he did the drawing.”

“You said you were fired a month ago?” Reese struggled to stay calm when all he wanted to do was find Turing and put a bullet in her head. The thought of Harold in a psych ward...drugged and helpless infuriated him.

“Yes. A couple of days after Mr. Smith made the picture, he wasn’t brought from the men’s section to the commons area after breakfast. I took a break and went to his room to make sure he was alright and.....” she stopped, her fists clenching.

“What did you find, Harry?” John’s voice was barely a whisper. 

“He....he had been restrained in his bed.” Harry looked up at him, her eyes bleak. “Someone had beaten him up pretty good and....he was soaked in urine but it wasn’t his. Most of it was on his upper torso, his face and I could smell it in his hair.”

Reese’s eyes closed, his heart contracting in sorrow as he heard the ex-orderly’s words.

“I freed him and got him cleaned up in the showers. He was less responsive than usual so I think he received a higher dose of the sedatives the head nurse had him on. I changed his sheets and got him settled, then I went looking for Jason.”

“Jason?”

“Jason Holston...he’s another orderly. Jason’s duty station was in the men’s quarters. His method of care was bullying the patients up to and including roughing them up.” Harry’s eyes snapped with anger. 

“I knew he was the one who’d done it. None of the other guys would even try, they were too afraid of Nurse Gilman. When I found him, I returned the favor. The coward didn’t even fight back.”

Inwardly, John approved with all his heart. He nodded for her to continue. 

“I left him where he fell and got some soup from the kitchens. Mr. Smith had managed to eat about half of it when the harpy....Gilman” Harry explained at Reese’s questioning look, “walked in and started ripping me a new one.”

“I tried to explain what had happened but she told me I had interfered with a special patient and my services were no longer required by the hospital.” The brunette ground her teeth, her eyes moist.

“It about killed me to leave him there. With my employee status revoked, I couldn’t even get in as a visitor to see him. I’m so sorry John.” Harry buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with grief.

Sally had remained silent throughout her partner’s story. Now she wrapped her arms around the other woman and whispered soothingly to her.

Reese sat down again and reached out, touching Harry’s knee.

“Don’t be sorry....you were the only one in that place that gave a damn about Harold. Thank you for protecting him as much as you could. Thank you for caring.”

Harry nodded, wiping her eyes. Sally looked from her lover to the man whom she’d held at gunpoint a mere hour ago. The blonde shook her head, pooching her lower lip out as she came to a decision.

“Alright Mr. Reese....how do you propose we get your friend back?”

“ _We_ , Sally?”

“I prefer Mrs. Reynolds-Barnes actually. And yes ’we’. Ettie knows the layout of St. Sebastian’s, even if she can’t get back in herself. There’s no since in you flying blind in there.” Sally held Harry’s hand....waiting.

Reese stared at both women. The last thing he thought he’d find at the end of this digital trail was a pair of allies, especially after the three of them had almost come to blows. _Although, that was my fault I admit....._

Harry pulled herself together and looked over at the op. “You’ll need me for as long as you‘re here, John. The medications that Mr.S-...Harold is on are going to have some pretty severe withdrawal symptoms. Patients on the mix he was given are on them for life.”

“Ideally, weaning him off of them with smaller doses over an extended period would be the best way to do it.”

“We don’t have that kind of time.....”

Harry’s lips thinned. “I thought that was the case. Cutting him off cold-turkey is going to be hard on him and on his caregivers.” She looked at her lover. “It’s up to you Sal....”

The blonde got up and walked around the room. She did one circuit, then another and then turned back to the other two. 

“Bring him here, Mr. Reese. Ettie’s right....your friend is going to go through hell on earth. Moving him will be impossible for a couple of weeks at least.”

John reached out and took Sally‘s hand. “Thank you; both of you.” 

Harry nodded. “Let’s plan this then.”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_The three of them stayed up until one a.m. working out some basic strategies. Sally, yawning, had excused herself at that point; pleading fatigue. The blonde retrieved her pistol from the table and turned back to look at her partner and the man they now knew as John Reese._

"I know you'll stay up for awhile longer, but you need to get some sleep soon...both of you." She sighed.

"Ettie, if you light up please go out on the porch and wash your hands before you come to bed. Goodnight Mr. Reese."

John inclined his head politely. Harry moved over to Sally's side and hugged her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight Love...I'll be up before too long."

Her partner hugged her back, tapping the taller woman on the nose before heading towards the staircase. Harry watched her go, an affectionate smile flitting across her lips. Reese took in the easy comfort in the way the women communicated; both their verbal and non-verbal interactions. A curious sense of wistfulness rose up within him. He wondered if he would ever find someone he could feel that way about....achieve that level of understanding in a relationship.

_The one person you want that with John has no idea you do.....whose fault is that?_

Reese sternly told his inner voice to shut up as they needed to concentrate on getting Finch back. He pulled back to the present with a start as he realized Harry had asked him a question.

"Sorry...I was thinking. What did you say?"

"I said, I'm stepping out for a smoke and asked if you'd like to join me." Harry held a hand up to forestall his protest. "I know you don't; neither do I as a rule but I've just been given _permission_ ," she grinned sheepishly "and I intend to take advantage of the fact."

John smiled back. He nodded and followed her out onto the big front porch. Harry turned off the living room and porch lights; scooping up a small leather case from the bookshelf before they stepped out the door. The bluish-white light of a 3/4 moon gave just enough illumination for them to locate and settle into the cushioned wicker chairs to the left of the front door. Harry opened the hard-shell case, pulling out a mid-length cigar and a silver cutter.

Reese said nothing, watching with raised eyebrows as his companion expertly nipped the point of the cigar's head off with her cutter, before returning the tool to its leather resting place. Harry produced a stainless steel lighter from the pocket of her sweatpants and flicked it into life.

Gripping the stogie by the band, she brought it to her lips; taking care that the open end hovered just above the dancing flame. Harry took a few strong puffs, rotating the tobacco-wrapped cylinder until the end glowed cherry-red. Only when she was certain she had achieved a good draw did Harry close the lighter with a snap.

The brunette leaned back in her chair and sighed, taking an occasional draw on the cigar. She caught the op watching her and grinned. She gestured with the _Montecristo Regata_. 

“I get this privilege two, maybe three times a year....if I’m lucky. Sal doesn’t like the smell very much.” Harry took another contented puff. John chuckled.

“Sally rules the roost then, huh?” he asked with empathy. Harry shrugged.

“It’s give and take, like all relationships are...the _good_ ones anyway. The ones worth keeping alive." Harry took a puff and exhaled a smoke ring.

"Sal’s cutting me a break now because of all the crap I’ve been handed from the hospital. My professional standing in the field has gone to hell since I was canned.”

“Will you be able to work again?”

“As an orderly, you mean?” the brunette shook her head, taking another draw on the stogie. “I can kiss the health care industry good-bye thanks to _La Grande Dame Bitch_ Gilman.”

Harry’s voice took on a hard edge. “I was good at what I did, John.” She turned to stare at Reese, her eyes sad. 

“It was a grueling, thankless, heart-braking task at times....and I _loved_ it. I felt like I was making a difference. Giving a little bit of comfort to patients who'd been stuck at St. Sebastian’s by families who were ashamed of them. That wanted their ‘problems’ kept out of sight.”

She looked out over the empty street in front of them. Scowling, she ground the fine Cuban cigar into the glass ashtray, extinguishing it. “All I ever wanted was to help people......”

Harry’s words pulled John back to the most pivotal moment of his life.

_Hung-over, tired, with a splitting headache...muscles still quivering with the adrenaline rush from trying to save a woman under assault....a woman who had been killed three years earlier. Grabbing the small, strange man by the throat; pushing him against the wall as he struggled to speak. “They lied to you...I never will. I think all you ever wanted to do was protect people!”_

“I’m sorry for that Harry.” Reese’s voice was thoughtful. “Neither Harold or I would have asked that sacrifice of you.”

“I’m _not_.” The woman replied. “If we can get your friend out of St. Sebastian’s...if you can bring him _home_ then all of this shit will be more than worth it.” Harry leaned forward in her chair. 

“From what you’ve told me John, Harold had no business being put in that hospital in the first place. I’d face getting chucked off a dozen jobs to help right that wrong. When you find whoever did this to him, call me.” The woman smacked a fist into her palm. “I’ll bring my nightstick to the party.”

John smiled at her words, looking out at the moonlight dappled trees lining the street. Part of him wished he could tell Harriet Barnes the whole truth. It had been a long time since he’d met someone he could consider a friend....besides Finch of course. Finch....well....Harold was in a class by himself. What John wanted with him was so much more.

Harry could be a buddy, however. Reese knew she could her own with him; whether it be drinking, at a baseball game or anything really. He found himself comfortable with the easy camaraderie that had sprung up between them as they sat on the porch.

He pulled himself out of his reverie when he heard the brunette get to her feet. Harry stretched, groaning as she worked her arm and shoulder muscles. “It’s almost two o’clock. Sally’ll have my ass on a plate if I don’t hit the hay.” She looked at Reese.

“You got a place to stay?”

“I came straight over here as soon as I hit the town.” John admitted, feeling embarrassed. Harry just laughed.

“I’ll bet you did. Look, the guestroom is top of the stairs, first door on your left. Second left is the bathroom. Since we’re planning on putting Harold there anyway, you might as well settle in tonight.”

“Harry....thanks. We owe you-”

“Nothing. Kismet, eh?” She winked at him. “Sometimes things fall into place for a reason. Harold getting stuck at my hospital; me wanting to help him and then you showing up. I‘m not overly religious but even my thick skull can see when a higher power steps in.”

Much to John’s surprise Harry reached over and hugged him; giving him a couple of claps on the back. “We’ll get him out of there, John. Now come in and get some sleep.”

As Reese headed up the stairs to the guestroom, his head was full of Harry’s words. Perhaps all this was Kismet, as she had said. He wasn’t religious either. He’d walked in darkness far too long to believe in the rosy promises painted by smooth-talking clerics; regardless of their faiths. But...all this was too much to be just co-incidental.

 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_Harry stepped out of the master bath after washing her hands with care. She traded her sports bra and sweats for a pair of linen sleep pants and slid into bed next to her spouse. The blonde rolled over, snuggling up against the taller woman’s side._

_Harry smiled and kissed the crown of Sally’s head, draping her arm around the blonde’s shoulder and cuddling her close. Sally twined her leg with Harry’s._

_“How’s Mr. Reese?” she asked, her voice heavy with sleep._

_“He’s hurting, although he’s a pro at masking it.” Harry sighed, her fingers tracing patterns on Sally’s upper arm. “Harold must be more than just a friend. I’m worried at how John’s going to handle the withdrawal symptoms.” She looked at her partner._

_“We have to help them Sal. Both of them. I get the sense that John’s not told Harold how he feels....that could complicate-”_

_The petite woman raised her upper body, turning in her spouse’s arms to look into her eyes._

_“Harriet Regina Barnes, you can’t shoulder all the problems of the world you know.” Sally kept her voice lowered but her tone was all frustrated fondness. “Believe it or not some things are just beyond your control.”_

_Harry sighed. “I know. I’m sorry I’m such a pain in your ass, Love.”_

_“You are, you know. A great big, strong, caring, pain in my ass who has a heart the size of Chicago.” Sally reached up and captured Harry’s lips, kissing her with a fierce possession that set the brunette’s heart racing. When at last she released the other woman, the blonde smiled._

_“And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”_

_Harry laughed, rolling over and pinning Sally underneath her. “Really?”_

_The blonde nodded, giggling. “Mmm-hmm. I’ve not wanted to trade you in yet. Just don’t give me a reason.”_

_“I’ll give you something, Dollface.” Harry kissed the side of Sally’s neck, working her way across the blonde’s throat until she came to the neck of her pajama top. The brunette made quick work of the buttons, slipping her hand inside to stroke Sally’s chest._

_“Oh yes...you’ll do just fine.” The blonde whispered._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

NOTES: I was originally going to make this part of a separate chapter but decided that it fit better in chapter V. With all the grimness up to now, I thought it would be nice to end on a hopeful note.


	6. System Breach

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter VI: System Breach  
Rating: NC-17  
Characters: Finch & Reese

NOTE: The first section of this chapter takes place between the end of Chapter V and the beginning of the Chapter V addendum posted on LJ. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Hastings Township, 12:04 a.m._

 

Harry shook her head. “You’re over-planning John. This isn’t a five star private clinic we’re talking about here; it's a state run facility.” She rubbed her fingers together.

“State run and state _funded_. Translation: ‘take the lowest bid, use the cheapest materials and have security systems that a four year old could crack'.”

The former orderly took up a pencil and began drawing the ground-floor plan of the hospital. John leaned in from the couch to watch as she sketched in the main entrance, patient receiving areas and administrative offices. Harry talked as she worked, keeping up a quasi-running commentary.

"My suggestion would be to go in through the delivery area. The bay doors are kept open all day so security doesn't have to run to do it when trucks arrive. Most of the time the warehouse is empty, unless the guard is doing his round or there's a shipment to be unloaded."

"Guard?" Reese's voice was incredulous. " _One_ person to patrol that large of a space?"

"State-funded Mr. Reese." Sally reminded him, setting a tray with coffee and sandwiches at one end of the coffee table. Harry shot her a look of gratitude and poured a cup. She sipped with one hand as she continued to draw. 

John looked bewildered. "How about cameras? Where are they located and do they rotate or is each monitored....." his question died away as he again saw Harry shake her head. "No cameras either?"

"There are exactly two security cameras in the whole of the St. Sebastian compound John. One is on the door of the drug dispensary, the other is on the inside. Both feeds go directly to monitors in Nurse Gilman's office." The brunette gave the op a feral grin.

"The harpy is _rabid_ to catch one of her staff stealing drugs. The rest of the hospital is blind."

At first John thought this must be some elaborate plot aimed at targeting him. That Root was banking on him rampaging into the hospital and had an ambush waiting...but, _it makes perfect sense actually._

_The only reason she was able to keep Harold's whereabouts secret for this long was by holding him where there is minimal technology. No access to computers, cellphones....no security camera feeds that could be hacked. The woman was crazy but meticulous in her attention to detail._

_Well, all of this was going to work against her now._ John thought grimly.

“I want to take a look at the hospital grounds in the morning...but for now show me the layout of the ward Harold is in...”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

**_one month prior, St. Sebastian's State Hospital_ **

_Harold was restrained to his bed. He was cold and could feel a wetness covering his body and in his hair. The smell was acrid and familiar....had he soiled himself again? Dull pains radiated through his abdomen and his lip felt thick._

_A knock sounded on his door, before it opened to admit a_ **blue**. _He felt his pulse speed up. Had Unit Jason come back?_

_"Mr. Smith? It's Harry. Is everything o-"_

_The orderly stopped in her tracks, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes were showing her. Mr. Smith was naked, strapped to the bed. Even from where she stood, Harry could see him shivering. New bruises blossomed in angry shades of blue and purple across his chest and stomach._

_A matching contusion discolored his right cheek and there was blood at the corner of the older man's mouth; matting his beard._

_"What the hell?!" The orderly was at his side in a moment, working to undo the straps when the stench hit her._ Urine? What.... _The liquid was concentrated on Mr. Smith's chest and in his hair. He hadn't wet himself...not unless he'd been hanging by his feet. Someone had pissed on him._

_Harry kept her temper in check as she freed her patient. She was certain Smith could sense her anger and did her best to reassure him._

_"It's alright Mr. Smith. I'm going to get you cleaned up and dressed, okay?"_

_Harold felt his muscles relax. The_ **blue** _was angry but not at him. She left him just long enough to get the wheelchair; draping his robe over the seat and back. The orderly maneuvered him into a sitting position and then hugged his chest. Gripping one wrist in her opposite hand, Harry lifted the drugged man off the bed._

_Finch's cheeks flushed. He was very aware of Unit Harry's proximity and the fact that he was unencrypted. Keeping his knees between her own, the_ **blue** _pivoted her body and settled him into the wheelchair. Harry wrapped the green hospital robe over him; tucking the loose ends around his back._

_"We're going to the showers now, Mr. Smith. You'll be alright; I'm going to take care of you."_

_Harold felt a sense of relief as the robe helped warm his body. The_ **blue** _was compensating for his reduced functionality. Analyzing his data patterns and making repairs as best she could. The OS program had become his support function; his_ **blue**. _Unit Harry would make sure that he was restored._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Clean, warm and dressed in fresh clothes; Finch was back in bed. His_ **blue** _unit was holding a cup of soup to his mouth as he took small sips. Harold felt his awareness returning to its normal parameters and ran an internal diagnostic. BlackBox functions at 85%. Additional nutritional intake required with sleep cycle to achieve maximum operating status. He took another mouthful of soup. Milk, garlic, butter, poultry base stock. Harold's head gave a tiny jerk to one side._

_Harry pulled back the cup and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Take your time Mr. Smith. I'll stay with you as long as you want me too."_

_The orderly was still seething inside at how her patient had been treated. She'd found Jason on her way to the kitchen. All it had taken was one look at the smug expression on his face and the woman had snapped._

_Harry had jumped him, slamming the small man to the ground. She waited for him to struggle to his feet only to knock him down again before treating him as her private punching bag. Harry left the orderly with a set of bruises to match those he'd given to Mr. Smith; then collected a container of chicken soup for her patient._

_Lost in her thoughts, Harry was startled to feel a hand close over her wrist. Looking down, she saw thin fingers on her arm. They squeezed gently then loosened their grip._

_Raising her eyes, the orderly met the pale blue-gray gaze of Mr. Smith. He'd never made eye contact with her before. His expression was slightly vacant and Harry could see the tiny wrinkles at the corner of his eyes as he squinted. "He needs glasses..." she thought. "He's not been able to see clearly since he got here."_

_Her anger re-kindled. “Those damnfool admitting physicians don’t even try to assess the new patients!” she raged inside. The orderly wished she could speak to Mr. Smith’s family....she would give those responsible for parking him here a piece of her mind. Damping down her reaction, Harry lifted the older man’s hand from her wrist and took it in both of hers. She squeezed his fingers back, leaning in a little closer so that he could see her smile._

_“You’re welcome. I won’t let anything else happen to you, I promise.”_

_With a supreme effort of will, Harold managed a small smile back at her. He closed his eyes and settled back against his pillow; exhausted by everything he’d undergone earlier. Something had happened....something bad...he’d been hurt somehow, his operations compromised. He wished he could remember. He would be alright though....his_ **blue** _said he would._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Harold had been awakened by the sound of angry voices...Unit Harry and_ **The White** _were arguing...about him. He remained as still as possible, feigning sleep while he attempted to process their interface._

_“The fact remains, Ms. Barnes that you assaulted a co-worker...”_

_“Because he assaulted his patient!” the orderly had instinctively stepped between the head nurse and Mr. Smith. Harold felt marginally safer behind her firewall._

_"Alright, so maybe I over-reacted but-"_

_"That doesn't excuse your own altercation with Mr. Holston." Nurse Gilman broke in, her lips thinning in distaste._

_"You've interfered in the care of a special needs patient. That on top of the assault is grounds for dismissal. Please remove your things from your locker and leave your I.D. badge at the reception desk, Ms. Barnes. St. Sebastian's no longer has need of your services."_

_Harry blinked, stunned by the Head Nurse's announcement. "You're firing_ me _? What about Jason? What about what he did to Mr. Smith?!"_

_"I am in charge of discipline in this hospital Ms. Barnes, not you. Consider yourself fortunate that I don't involve the police in this matter._

_Harold's eyes opened._ **The White** _was attacking his_ **blue** _! The Admin was re-writing C Drive's security protocols to exclude Unit Harry. He twitched, trying to throw off his blanket...to help. Unfortunately, it just drew_ **The White's** _attention to him._

_"You see? Mr. Smith is agitated again." Nurse Gilman stepped out into the hall, barking a request to another orderly who had been waiting outside. She moved towards the bed, a syringe in her hand._

_**NO!** Harold tried once more to get up but his body refused to respond properly. The Admin would damage his programming. She would re-set him and he would forget; his memory fragmented, unreadable..._

_"Restrain him, Ms. Barnes."_

_"No. Get one of your lackeys to do it."_

_"Do as you're told!"_

_"You just fired me remember? I won't help you hurt him and if I could, I'd take him out of here with me right now!"_

_Harry stepped in front of Harold again, taking his hand in hers and looking into his eyes; making sure she had his attention._

_"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith. I've got to leave or security will have me arrested."_

_Harold couldn't read the_ **blue's** _expression but the frustration in her voice was clear. He tried to speak but before he could make a sound, Unit Harry was pulled away and a large male_ **blue** _had pinned his upper body, extending his arm out to_ **The White.**

_The Admin stabbed him and Harold's brain clouded over. As he slipped into darkness, all he could process was that his_ **blue** _was gone…excluded by the C Drive firewall. The BlackBox was alone._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_present time_

Orderly Holston stalked through the main doors of St. Sebastian‘s. It was his first day back on the job and he strutted to the staff lockers. He changed into his work scrubs carefully; his left wrist still in a brace. Nearly four weeks had passed since that crazy lesbo bitch had jumped him. Other than a greenstick fracture of his wrist, his injuries hadn't been serious.

_If she hadn’t snuck up behind me, I would have pounded her in the ground._ Jason Holston snorted, the mental image of him beating Harriet Barnes within an inch of her life bringing a sneer to his lips. _Stupid cunt deserved to get fired....deserves more than that, if I ever cross her path again._

What pissed him off the most was the twenty-one day suspension he'd been handed, along with a verbal reprimand by the Head Nurse. So what if he'd slapped that old man around? _The gimp needed to be taught a lesson, shoving me like he did. It's not like I'm the only one who does it either. It's not like anyone cares…except the dyke._

The skinny young man ground his teeth. He wanted to make Barnes hurt for getting him in trouble. Jason almost regretted that the orderly was gone because the opportunity to cause her pain seemed out of reach. Maybe he could get her address from the personnel records or something. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_outside St. Sebastian’s Compound_

John Reese parked the Town Car on a ridge behind the mental hospital. Stepping out, he rested his elbows on the roof and trained a pair of binoculars on the fence line and building complex. 

Although most of the trees had been removed, there was still plenty of cover between the 10 foot chain-link and the loading bay doors. He grunted.

“They won’t spend money on security cameras and staff but they’ll top their fence with razor wire?” He leaned down to peer at Harry inside the car. “Are you sure there’s no ‘criminally insane’ patients in there?”

“Minimum security, remember? I think the fence contractor was just padding his bid with unnecessary add-ons.”

Reese scanned the outbuilding closest to the perimeter…about a hundred yards in from the fence. There were old tires and some empty fifty-five gallon drums scattered around behind it. 

"What's that gray building on the left?"

Harry got out of the car, walking around to the driver’s side and took the offered field glasses from the op. She scanned the area he indicated. 

“Hospital garage. There's a couple of passenger vans and a panel van fitted with a wheelchair ramp inside. 

"Looks like a change of plans might be in order. I was worried about how to get Harold from the hospital building to the fence….me carrying him would be noticed in a heartbeat. But if I wheel him into a van…how often does that happen?"

Harry shrugged. "The passenger vans _never_ go out. The Harpy isn't a 'field trip' kind of caregiver. The panel van, sometimes. If a patient is seriously ill they have to be transported to a regular hospital…St. S's doesn't have a diagnostic test lab for one thing. Blood work, urine, MRIs all have to be done over at Canandaigua General. Wait-" 

She lowered the binoculars and pinned the op with a look. "Are you thinking what I _think_ you are?!"

Harry couldn't help smiling at the grin that broke over the man's face. A lightbulb went off in her brain. "John, do you trust me?"

At his nod, she continued. "Then let me make a call. My friend Amos works in the records office. He hates the way things are around here as much as I do and he positively _loathes_ Gilman. If I ask him to, he'll dummy up a patient transfer form for Mr. Smith and put you down as the driver."

Harry turned to him, her eyes shining. "Please let me do this….I know Amos will take it to his grave and you won't have to break in…. _hell John_ , if you show up at the side door with the van, they'll bring Harold right out to you and load him. All you'll have to do is smile and drive him out the front gate."

Harry paced back and forth in front of Reese’s car. “There’s a side road about two miles east of here, off the main highway. I can meet you there with your car. You take Harold back to the house in it.”

“What about you?”

“I make sure that they don’t find the panel van.” Harry shook her head at the look the op leveled at her. “John, you just make sure you get Harold safe. I’ll get home, no problem.”

The op looked at her. She seemed so sure that her plan would work…but this was Harold's life on the line. He couldn't afford to take any chances. He opened his mouth to tell her no when her remark from the night before came back to him….

_"Kismet, eh? Sometimes things fall into place for a reason. Harold getting stuck at my hospital; me wanting to help him and then you showing up. I‘m not overly religious but even my thick skull can see when a higher power steps in."_

_Harry knows this place and she knows the people. She also cares about Harold. She wouldn't suggest something if she didn't think it wouldn't work._

"Alright. How much time are we looking at?"

"If I call Amos today then he'll have the papers ready to go by tomorrow. They'll be waiting for you at the garage with a name tag for you  & a note saying you're a sub driver from the temp agency. They’re in and out all the time.”

“What about I.D.?”

“The garage guys just have their name tags. Since they don’t actually go inside the main hospital, they don’t have a scan card like the orderlies and other staff do.”

As much as Reese didn't want to admit it, he'd gotten used to the quality of support he'd gotten from Finch. The recluse had fingers in all possible pots and was a master organizer. Trying to deal with the irrelevants as combined strategist, researcher and muscle was beyond his abilities on a continuing basis.

To have an asset, no two assets...one with an intimate knowledge of his target area, literally fall into his lap was beyond price. Cara's advice came back to him: _'When you place your trust in someone, do your job and let them do theirs. Don't waste time second-guessing!'_

Harry sensed his hesitation and took a chance as to the source of it. "I hate the thought of leaving him in there any longer than you do, John." She squeezed his arm.

"But we know where he is. Isn't it worth a day to make sure we've got the best possible chance of bringing him out safely?"

Reese took a deep breath and released. He knew she was right. Now was the time for him to prep for any 'contingencies' while Harry made her contacts. If he went in half-cocked it could cost them....or worse, Harold would suffer for it.

"Alright." He took one more look down at the hospital complex. _Hang in there Harold...I'm coming._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_The BlackBox was in hibernation....it had for some time now. It's operations had been idling, it's physical hardware restrained to either its bed or a mobile device. The_ **blues** _administered nutritional input to the BlackBox and continued its cleaning cycle schedule. The_ **green** _no longer felt pain when The Admin interfaced with it; no longer focused on the efficiency of its functions._

_Once, every so often a fleeting wisp of memory would surface in the BlackBox's awareness. The sound of a voice...warmth of a hand on its shoulder; only to be lost in the gray fog that now had become its operating cycle._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_St. Sebastian's compound, next day_

Harry scoped out the landscape once more. "It looks clear John. There's plenty of cover between here and the garage and at this time of day, they'll be up to their eyeballs in their lunch and not caring much about anything else."

Reese popped the trunk and pulled out a black canvas dufflebag. He draped the strap over his shoulders and picked up a pair of heavy gauge wire cutters from the backseat. 

“Alright. I’m going in. Keep an eye out for me and if you see anything give me a shout.” He tapped his ear and Harry felt a momentary surge of envy. She’d been quite green when John had pulled out some of his ‘toys’ as he was getting ready.

“Be careful and good luck. I’ll go ahead and bring the car to the meeting point.” 

Harry watched the man jog down the hill, keeping to the brush and trees as he closed in on the fence line.

_Now or never_...she thought. That John was more than competent to pull this off, Harry knew without a doubt. His whole attitude screamed ex-military...probably a Ranger or a SEAL. Most likely decorated for valor too. 

That was why when she'd spotted him cleaning weapons behind the house yesterday afternoon, she had reassured Sally and told her not to say a word about it. Harry still sent a silent plea out to the fates though. _Even heroes need a little help now and then_.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

NOTES: If you haven't guessed it yet, St. Sebastian's is a nod to KaticaLocke's crack-smoking plot bunny. Who better to name my mental institution after? Also, I couldn't help referencing 'Top Sekrit Emails Home', one of the funniest crack-fics I've ever read. Chapters 7 and 8 (yes, my brain is demanding an extra chapter) will be up soon. Thanks for everyone's great response to this story. I really appreciate it!


	7. System Failure

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter VII: System Failure (sorry guys, this really is chapter 7 NOT 8...)  
Rating: R to NC-17  
Warnings: Violence and language  
Characters: Finch & Reese

NOTES: It’s going to be a bumpy ride folks. There will be one more chapter after this one. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Reese paused in a thicket about fifty yards from the garage. Dropping the dufflebag, the op stripped out of the dark sweats he was wearing and changed into his khaki pants and a scrub shirt that Harry had given him. He cleaned his face with sanitary wipes and combed back his hair._

_Wiping the dust off his shoes, John left all his gear where it lay. The only thing he took with him was the SIG Sauer he tucked into the waistband of his pants. Covering the pistol with his scrub shirt, Reese stepped out of hiding and strolled nonchalantly up to the cinderblock building. “Here we go....” he thought, ducking into the main bay._

 

“Hello? Anybody in here?”

“Yo! In the back!” a voice answered from the rear of the structure.

The op wound his way between the three vans to a small office. Two men were seated on either side of a desk, faces buried in their respective lunches. A battered radio filled the small room with the vintage stylings of Mr. H. Williams, Sr.

The older of the two men peered over his wireframes at the newcomer.

“You the sub driver, son?”

John gave the man his best ‘nice to meet you buddy’ grin. “Yessir. John Reed, sir.” He held his hand out.

The ‘fleet manager’ nodded, holding his hoagie up as an excuse for not reciprocating the gesture. “George Blankenship. This is Martin.” 

Another head nod indicated his younger co-worker; a scruffy looking kid around twenty or so. Reese nodded to him as well.

“I got your paperwork this morning from Admin.” George pointed to a manila envelope on the edge of the desk. 

“Van’s gassed up and ready to go. Looks like you’ll have to cool your heels over at CG for a couple of hours before they get finished with the MRI scan on your package.”

George laughed, taking a bite of his sandwich. “You got a cellphone?” Getting Reese’s affirmative, he continued. 

“My advice is to give the number to the orderly in charge and then skedaddle down to the cafeteria. Best lasagna in the county and no-one will bother you if you want to read the paper or watch TV.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Reese opened the envelope and donned his nametag. 

George peered at him for a moment. “You haven’t shuttled for us before, have you?”

“Nah...I drove for a couple of retirement homes before they ’downsized’ their staff. I needed this job bad.”

“Fuckin’ budget cuts....” The older man commiserated for a whole thirty seconds before pinning Reese with a fierce glance. 

“Since you don’t know, I’ll give you the routine. When you bring the van back, it’s your job to clean it....inside and out. Some of these fruit loops are pretty messy. You’ll have to gas it up too, we’ll give you the codes for the pump then.”

“Yessir!”

“Alrighty. They’ll be expecting you soon. Keys are on the board there, van three.”

“Thanks Mr. Blankenship. I’ll see you later.”

George grunted and waved the op on. John could hear the two men laughing under their breath as he left the office; pleased that they’d dumped some of their work on ’the new guy’. He ignored their amusement and settled himself in the driver seat of the panel van. Reese familiarized himself with the ramp controls, then buckled up and started the vehicle.

Following the signs directing him to the side entrance, Reese pulled the van up to the double doors; leaving enough room for him to deploy the ramp. He pushed the call button. A staticky voice answered his ring.

“Patient services, may I help you?”

“Driver John Reed, here for transport pick up to Canandaigua General.”

“Yes Mr. Reed. The patient will be out shortly.”

“Thank you.”

It was the waiting that was the worst part of any mission for John. Even after hundreds of assignments, both for the military and the CIA, he still hated the uncertainty of inaction. A thousand ’what ifs’ flitted through his mind and the weight of the SIG resting against his lower back felt like a ton of bricks. Just as he was thinking that something had gone wrong, the doors opened.

Reese's eyes fell on the disheveled figure strapped to a battered wheelchair that was pushed through the doorway. The bright sunlight threw the hollows in the older man's cheeks into stark relief. Fading smudges of brown and sickly yellow contrasted with the pallor of his complexion. _Bruises_...the op realized.

The patient's hair had grown long enough to brush his shoulders and a grizzled grayish-brown beard covered his chin. The man was unresponsive to his surroundings....his head bowed and a thread of drool stretched from the corner of his mouth to soak into his green t-shirt.

It took Reese’s brain a long moment to process that the pitiful wreck in front of him was Finch. Once his psyche had accepted that fact, the op exercised every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep from forcing his way into the hospital and shooting anyone even remotely responsible for Harold’s condition. John smiled at the orderly pushing the wheelchair, his calm expression at odds with the rage coursing through him.

“Hi. Need a hand with him?”

“You drive the van, dude; _I’m_ the medical professional.” The black-haired man’s voice was laced with scorn as he pushed past John. 

The twenty-something caretaker bumped the wheelchair onto the ramp without thought to the jarring he was giving its occupant. The op noticed that he didn’t bother locking the wheels before engaging the power lift. Reese shifted his position so that he stood directly in front of the ramp, just in case the chair rolled. 

The orderly clambered into the cargo area and yanked the chair backwards. A faint noise of protest was rewarded by a slap to the back of Finch’s head.

“Shut up, Gimpy.”

Reese had actually taken a step forward before regaining control of himself. He was so close to getting Harold out of here; he refused destroy his chance of success by letting his anger get the better of him. Until Finch was out of harm’s way, revenge was a luxury he couldn’t afford to indulge in.

Reese poked his head in the rear of the van and watched the orderly position his partner’s chair. The op’s eyes narrowed as he saw the younger man moving towards him.

“Aren’t you going to secure his chair?”

The orderly glared at the driver, his blue-green eyes hostile. “You think you know more than me about patient care, man?”

“I’m not saying that. But if I have to slam on the brakes and he does a nose-dive it’s my ass on the line.” Reese locked gazes with the caretaker, letting a tiny bit of steeliness show in his own stare.

“Fine.” The younger man huffed in irritation, re-positioning the wheelchair and strapping the tires into their bumpers on the van floor. The orderly then settled himself into the single seat opposite the ramp. 

“Didn’t know I was going to have someone riding shotgun.”

“Special needs patient, dude. I’m in charge of him when the head nurse is off. That means I go with him.” The younger man pulled his cellphone out and began texting. He glanced up to see John watching him and spread his hands in a universal ‘what are you dickin’ around for?’ gesture.

“Get a move on, Jackass! The hospital's waiting for us.”

Reese stowed the ramp and closed the sliding door. He ground his teeth as he walked around the back of the van to step up into the driver’s seat. Starting up the vehicle he put it in gear and headed for the front entrance; glancing in the rearview mirror at his unexpected passenger. 

The orderly was absorbed in his texting, lifting one hand from the keyboard to pop an earbud in and plug it into his phone. The faint sounds of grunge rock bled through to Reese and he felt confident that the other man would not overhear a quiet conversation.

"Harry?"

_"I'm here John. Everything alright?"_

"So far, so good. What does Jason Holston look like?" Reese kept his tone low and even.

 _"Slender build...I'd call him 'weedy'. Black hair, hazel eyes...chip on his shoulder bigger than Lake Ontario...."_ The contempt in Harry's tone was palpable. 

"About five-nine?"

_"Yes....did you see him?!"_

John's hands tightened on the wheel at her confirmation. 

"Got a glimpse...I have to go Harry. See you in a few minutes." He reached up and on the pretext of rubbing his face, tapped his earpiece to end the call. Barnes' words from the other evening came back to him.

**_“What did you find, Harry?”_ **

**_“He....he had been restrained in his bed...Someone had beaten him up pretty good and....he was soaked in urine but it wasn’t his. Most of it was on his upper torso, his face and I could smell it in his hair...I changed his sheets and got him settled, then I went looking for Jason.”_ **

**_“Jason?”_ **

**_“Jason Holston...he’s another orderly. Jason’s duty station was in the men’s quarters. His method of care was bullying the patients up to and including roughing them up...I knew he was the one who’d done it. None of the other guys would even try, they were too afraid of Nurse Gilman."_ **

 

He had Holston in his van...the person responsible for Finch's injuries was sitting just a few feet away from him. Reese flicked his eyes once again to the mirror and noted that the orderly, still focused on texting, hadn't bothered to put on his seatbelt.

The op gradually increased the speed of the van, sneaking it up to sixty-five miles per hour. He divided his attention between the deserted road in front of him and Holston. When the other man shifted his position, John cut the steering wheel hard to the right.

The orderly flew out of his seat, hitting the van's floor with a startled shout. As he struggled to his knees, Reese cut back to the left and threw him into the driver's side wall. The op pulled the van onto the verge of the road and killed the engine. He surged back into the cargo area, seizing the skinny man by his collar and shaking him until his teeth rattled.

"Hello Jason." The op's voice was laced with menace. "Been hoping to meet you. We've got a lot to discuss." Reese caught Holston in a headlock, restraining the small man with minimal effort. 

"Do you see this man, Jason?" Reese turned the orderly so that he was forced to look at the frail figure strapped in the wheelchair. "This man that you've tortured... _humiliated_?" 

 

The op's hands tightened around the younger man's throat. "He's a friend of mine Jason and the only reason I don't kill you right now for what you've done is because he wouldn't want me to. That's the only thing keeping you alive."

Reese's lips brushed Holston's ear and sent a shiver of terror up his spine.

"Every morning when you wake up, I want you to remember that Jason." John's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Because every night when you go to sleep, you'll see me in your dreams. I want you to know that if you ever hurt anyone again, I will end you. Do you understand?"

The orderly managed a string of unintelligible noises before the op closed off his windpipe. John loosened his grip, allowing Holston to suck in air.

"Do you understand me, Jason?"

"Y-yes....oh God...."

"Let's just make sure you do then."

With a deft twist, Reese dropped the young man; pinning him to the floor of the van. Holding the orderly immobile with one hand, the op stripped him with contemptuous ease; tossing each garment to the back of the van as he removed it.

Holston whimpered, trying to resist but the fingers digging into his neck shifted and a paralyzing pain shot down his spinal cord. His attacker's free hand gripped the elastic of his briefs and Jason felt his hips jerked upwards as the other man yanked the last article of clothing down his legs and threw it aside. His back slammed against the cold steel of the van's flooring and Holston grunted as the air was forced out of his lungs.

Reese stared down at the orderly, his eyes cold and noted the fear in the bully's expression... _he thinks I'm going to kill him anyway...after I rape him_. The op's lip curled in disgust. _I'd rather screw a sheep._

 

"How does it feel, Jason? To know you're vulnerable....helpless...to know that no-one is going to help you?" Reese pressed his knee into Holston's chest, sliding it lower to rest on the orderly's abdomen.

"To know that you can't stop what's going to happen next..."

The op applied a fraction more pressure and was rewarded with the other man's sobbing gasp of denial as his bladder emptied; the wet warmth of urine spreading over Holston's inner thighs to pool beneath his buttocks. 

"Now that you know, don't forget."

Reese smacked the butt of his pistol against Jason's temple and the man collapsed into unconsciousness. John secured the orderly's hands with a zip tie and opening the side door, rolled his limp body over and dumped it behind a clump of bushes next to the pull out. 

The 'love tap' he'd given Holston would insure he stayed put for at least twenty minutes. After he regained consciousness, it would most likely be an hour or two before the orderly worked up enough courage to try and flag down a car; assuming the resulting nausea and headache weren‘t too severe.

Climbing back into the van, Reese knelt down in front of the wheelchair, his fingers curling around Finch's upper arms. 

"Finch? I don't know if you can understand me right now. You're safe….I've got you."

The recluse gave no indication that he was aware of the other man's presence. John sighed, blinking to clear the moisture from his eyes. "I'll get you home, Finch…I promise."

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

　  
 _The op parked the Towne Car in the Barnes’ garage to hide it from curious eyes. Sally had been watching from the kitchen and silently opened the back door for him when he appeared on the porch, cradling Finch’s body in his arms. Reese met her eyes and hoped that she could read the gratitude in his expression. The blonde smiled in response and nodded towards the stairs._

_John moved with careful consideration for the man he carried, wanting to keep Finch as calm as possible. The recluse was still unresponsive and seemed to be passing in and out of consciousness. The sedatives he’d been given must have been very powerful. The clinical portion of Reese’s brain noted that it made sense for Root to want Finch under as complete control as possible. Pharmaceuticals were the easiest and cleanest way to do so._

_The rest of his mind was clamoring for vengeance against the hospital staff, Root, anyone who had a hand in hurting Harold. What he’d done to Holston had been a good start but just scratched the surface of his need to retaliate. Reese forced these thoughts to one side. Finch was what he needed to concentrate on right now. Figuring out how to help him..._ fix _him. Not because he owed the billionaire but because his friend needed him...almost as much as John needed Finch._

John eased the smaller man onto the bed in their hosts’ guestroom. With infinite care he removed Harold’s soiled t-shirt and scrub pants; tossing them into the trashcan. He pulled the thick quilt up over the recluse‘s nude body. Finch lay immobile for a long moment, then sighed; relaxing into the supportive mattress and Reese could tell he was asleep at last. 

The op stood irresolute at his friend‘s bedside. Harold most certainly wasn’t going anywhere and John needed to talk to Sally...touch bases with Harry. He didn’t want Finch out of his sight, however. _No one can get him out of this room without bringing him down the stairs. I’ll kill them before they get that far._ Making up his mind, Reese rejoined Sally downstairs.

The blonde handed him a mug and pushed him over to the kitchen table. John sat down, taking a sip of the hot coffee. Sally took the chair opposite him.

“How is Harold?”

“Sleeping...for now.” John met the concerned gaze of his hostess. He gave a slight smile, attempting to show her a reassurance that he didn’t himself feel. “Have you heard from Harry?”

“Ettie called just before you arrived. She said the van’s taken care of and to tell you thanks for the jacket...whatever that means.” Sally’s tone was puzzled.

“Why didn’t she contact me, I wonder.”

“She didn’t want to distract you from Harold. Getting yourselves back here was the top priority...Ettie knows that.”

Reese took another sip of his coffee. 

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be rolling in but if you don’t mind something cold, there’s chicken salad in the refrigerator. Bread’s on the counter, feel free to help yourself to anything you want.”

John reached out and covered the petite woman’s hand with his free one. “Sally...thank you. For _everything_. You and Harry had no reason to help me...”

“Except that it was the right thing to do.” She broke in. “I had decided not to like you, ‘Mr. Tell-Me-Where-He-Is-And-Nobody-Will-Get-Hurt’...breaking into our house and going all testosterone on us.”

The op had to smile at her words. “I am sorry for that.”

Sally squeezed his fingers. “I know....just as I know now what a good person you are Mr. John Reese.” She looked up at him, her green eyes full of warmth. 

“Harold is lucky to have someone who cares about him enough to track him down and save him from that cess-pit of a hospital.”

John was about to reply when his stomach rumbled loudly enough for both of them to hear. The blonde snickered, trying to politely hold back a laugh. 

“I think you’d better take care of that.”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

Reese was just finishing his second sandwich when he heard the front door open. In one fluid motion he dropped his plate and spun in place; pulling the SIG from the small of his back.

“Sally? John?” Harry’s voice came through from the living room.

The op exhaled, engaging the safety and tucked the firearm back into his pants. 

“Back here.”, he called turning back to see Sally staring at him; mouth open and eyes wide. The blonde’s teeth clicked as she closed her jaw and took a deep breath.

Harriet Barnes stepped into the kitchen to see her partner looking agitated.

“Sal, you okay?”

Sally crossed the room and wrapped her arms around the taller woman. “It’s nothing...“ her voice was muffled against Harry’s neck. “Are you alright? Were there any problems?”

The blonde pulled back and began checking her partner for injuries. Harry squeezed her shoulders in reassurance. “I’m fine, Love.” She looked over Sally’s back at the tall man watching them with quiet interest. “John...where’s Harold?”

“Upstairs, sleeping.” his eyes moved from the brunette to her partner and back. “Sally, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

The blonde turned to face him. “John, it’s alright. Ettie told me about....that you were in the military. Your reaction just startled me, that’s all.”

It was Reese’s turn to look surprised. “How did you know...”

Harry gave him a half-smile. “My uncle was in Vietnam...Special Forces.” she shrugged, pulling Sally back against her chest and hugging her from behind. “I know the signs and made an ‘educated‘ guess.”

The taller woman kissed her partner on the crown of her head. “Sal, I need to talk to John upstairs. I’ll be back down soon.”

Sally pinned her with a glare. “I’ll make something for you, which you’d _better_ eat if you know what’s good for you.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

The blonde gave a curt nod. “Go, make sure Harold is alright. Then _both_ of you need some rest.”

Sally watched the two of them head towards the staircase. _It was amazing how alike they are. True Ettie’s way of protecting people was more...benign than John’s but they both cared deeply about what they did. The tall, enigmatic man must have been a model soldier at one time._

She wondered what had happened to hurt him, for it was obvious that his faith in his ideals had been shattered in the past. His devotion to his friend proved that he still had the capacity to feel, however. Sally hoped for both his and Harold’s sake that he would be strong enough to deal with what was to come.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

“He’ll most likely sleep for the rest of today and we mustn’t disturb him.” 

Harry stood with John at the foot of the king-sized bed. Finch’s pinched face and form were dwarfed by the huge piece of furniture.

“Tomorrow he should be lucid again and will seem close to normal; maybe even for a day or two more.” She glanced sideways at the op. “We need to get him to shower and shave; cut his hair too, as soon as he wakes up. We won’t be able to do it again for awhile.”

“What do you mean?” John shot her a puzzled look.

“John, sedative withdrawal is like that. You get a few days of clarity and then the symptoms hit hard“ she smacked a fist into her palm “....like a freight train.” 

Reese nodded, his eyes fixed once again on Harold’s face.

“Have you ever helped someone get clean before?”

The op shook his head. “I’ve seen the after-effects of drugs used for interrogational purposes.....”

Harry took a deep breath, letting it out through her nose. 

“Whole different animal, my friend. Your Harold is going to hate himself before this thing is over....nevermind it wasn’t his fault he was put into this position. When withdrawal sets in he’s going to feel guilt, shame, fear...the whole noxious cocktail of negative emotions.”

Harry's eyes darkened. "He's going to lash out at all of us. Sally's helped me with this type of situation before; she knows what to expect and will stay in a support role mostly. I'd prefer her to." 

The orderly turned to the somber figure at her side. "I want you to understand what will happen John. At some point during this process Harold is going to do his best to make you hate him; to drive you away. To him, that will be easier to cope with than having to face the reality of what he‘s been through. He's going to feel that he's worthless, weak, useless. That you would be better off without him."

Harry gripped Reese's arm. " _Don't let him do that._ John, I have to ask you this. It's very important. Are you prepared to see him through this? All the way to the other side?"

The op nodded. "I _have_ to. Harold is....he's all I've got, Harry. I think...."

Harry smiled. "You love him, don't you?"

John dipped his head, not trusting himself to speak.

"Does Harold know?"

"We-...we've never talked about it."

The woman sighed. "This could be make or break time for you both. Stick with him John. If you really love him, don't get angry; don't walk away." Harry moved to the doorway. 

"He's going to need you more now than at any other time in his life." 

"Is it alright if I stay with him?"

"I'd rather you did. Try to get some rest too, okay?" She walked out, closing the door behind her.

John stripped out of the scrub shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He stepped out of his shoes and traded his khakis for a pair of loose sleep pants. 

The op drew the chair closer to the bedside and settled into it to wait for Finch to wake up. Reese held his pistol in one hand...his grip relaxed but ready to spring into action if necessary.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

_Harold Finch pushed his way through a swirling mass of images....most terrifying and all grotesque. Faces confronted him on all sides...the mocking smile of Caroline Turing; the severe, angular features of Nurse Gilman; random doctors...orderlies and others started spinning, blurring into a vortex that threatened to drag him under._

_He clutched his temples trying to still their frenetic movements. The recluse shook his head and the faces faded, being replaced by one figure walking towards him. As it drew nearer, Finch recognized the features of Jason Holston, his eyes glowing with anger and a cruel grin showing his teeth._

_“No....” Finch turned to try and escape only to find himself strapped to a bed, naked and helpless._

_“You’re not going anywhere, Gimp.” Holston’s voice promised violence._

_“Stop!”_

_The orderly laughed as he looked down at Finch. He held a syringe up, waving it in front of his captive’s eyes._

_“You are gonna be so...very...sorry you fucked with me.”_

_Harold opened his mouth to scream when Holston’s body went flying sideways. At once, Finch was sitting upright in a wheelchair. Another face peered into his own...its intense blue eyes full of compassion._

_"Finch? You're safe….I've got you."_

_The eyes blinked away tears that had formed in them. "I'll get you home, Finch…I promise."_

The man who had become Harold Finch gasped into awareness, his eyes flying open. He sucked in deep breaths and tried to determine his whereabouts. Horizontal...in bed, no restraints. _Quiet, no buzzers...intercoms...no screams or singing._ Finch’s eyes darted left and right but without his glasses, the room he was in was mostly a blur.

_No smell of disinfectant or urine. Scent of wood, furniture polish and...aftershave?!_

The billionaire became aware of a weight on the bed next to him. With care he shifted, turning his upper body so that his fused neck was supported on the pillows behind his head. Harold looked down to see a black-haired man, obviously asleep, with his head and torso resting on the mattress. 

The man’s face was turned away from him, cradled on one arm. His other was stretched out parallel to Finch’s legs, his fingers loosely curled over the butt of a nine millimeter pistol. Harold’s ears caught the faint sound of snoring. 

Relief flooded his system, overloading his already compromised thought processes. Harold wanted to laugh, cry...even shout at what Reese’s presence in the room meant but his mind couldn’t sort out which response would be appropriate. He felt hot tears slipping down his face and managed to get one word out; his voice raspy from disuse.

“John....”

It was barely a whisper and Finch cleared his throat, trying again.

“John!”

Reese started awake, supporting his pistol in both hands as he rose to his feet, aiming at the door. 

“John... _please..._ ”

The op turned back to the bed, the SIG dangling at his side as he met the eyes of the man he’d been searching for all these months. Reese took in the unfocused expression on Finch’s face...the streaks of moisture on both his cheeks and felt his heart contract.

He dumped the pistol into the chair he’d occupied and going down on his knees, gathered the older man in his arms; holding him close.

“Harold....”

John couldn’t say anything more as he felt the tremors start. When Finch’s arms clutched at him in return, he uttered a strangled noise and hugged the billionaire tighter.

_“Harold...”_

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi** 　

NOTES: One chapter to go and it’s going to be a hot, nasty, angst-ridden mess. I’m just warning you now. Again, I’d like to thank everyone who’s stuck with me on this wild ride. I appreciate all the comments and reviews I’ve gotten and I am grateful for everyone’s patience.


	8. Part A: Curtus Eruditio

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter VIII Part I: Curtus Eruditio  
Rating: R to NC-17  
Warnings: Descriptions of Illness  
Characters: Finch & Reese

 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Finch stood underneath the showerhead and reveled in the hot water coursing over his sore and battered body. He’d scrubbed himself thoroughly three times before giving his hair the same treatment. He felt that perhaps, at last, the stench of the mental hospital might have been removed from his person.

Shutting off the taps, he reached for the towel Reese had left him. Draping it over his head, Finch roughed it through his hair; the homey scent of fabric softener helping to ground him even more in the real world. He was away from St. Sebastian’s....free! John had found him and brought him here. Their conversation upon his return to consciousness flitted through his mind. 

 

_“Harold do you remember Harriet Barnes?”_

_“Harriet?”_

_Reese showed him a picture of the orderly. “Harry!” the smaller man blurted._

_“Yes. We’re in her home. I tracked you here and she and her wife offered their help to get you out.”_

_Finch clutched the blankets around him, his eyes darting to the door. “They’ll find me. They know Harry works for the hospital...the White” he cut himself off, realizing what he’d just said. He flicked his eyes towards the other man, who fortunately seemed oblivious to the stray reference._

_The op put his hand over his friend’s. “Calm down Harold. No-one will trace you here.” Reese’s eyes caught the recluse’s frightened ones. “Do think I’d be that sloppy? Especially with you?”_

_Finch took in several deep breaths as Reese’s words permeated his panic._

_“No.....no, I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry John.” Finch picked at the quilt with nervous fingers. “I’d like to get dressed, if you don’t mind.”_

_“How about a shower first? Maybe a haircut and shave?”_

_The billionaire lifted a hand to his face, touching the whiskers covering his skin. He could feel his hair against his ears....both sensations were irritating, alien; unwanted._

_“Yes to all three, I think.”_

_John had stepped back, letting Finch get out of bed on his own; silently offering a bathrobe when his partner found his feet._

_"What have you told them?" The recluse asked, donning his glasses and evincing a keen interest in the wallpaper pattern._

_"That your name is Harold Wren and mine is John Reese. That you had been put in St. Sebastian's against your will and I'd come to get you out."_

_"Nothing else?"_

_"No."_

_This time Finch turned to the other man, his look incredulous. "And based on those two statements these women opened their home up to you? Helped get me out of that....place?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Then there is some reason they want to keep us here.....you have to-"_

_"Harold......" Reese silenced the recluse with a touch on his shoulder. "The only reason they have is that they are decent human beings. "I know you were pretty drugged up most of the time in there but_ think _, just for a moment. Did Harry ever hurt you?"_

_Finch paused, delving into the chaotic jumble of memories that had begun surfacing in his mind. He looked again at the picture Reese had shown him. Harry's face conjured thoughts of safety, protection....kindness. Nothing negative. He closed his eyes and realized that John was right. Harry would be moved to assist them simply because it was the right thing to do._

 

The recluse finished toweling his hair and dried his body. So the caretaker was married. Finch would wager that Harry's spouse was very nurturing but independent....and probably exasperated with her partner's need to help everyone. _She's much like Reese in that respect, I think....without the kneecapping, of course._

Finch took his time dressing, not pleased about the casual attire he'd been given sweatpants and a polo shirt indeed, but glad for real clothing of any kind. He'd removed as much of his beard as he could with scissors and a blade razor before his bath. Looking over the vanity, he saw that John had left an electric shaver for him to finish the job.

Just as he was checking the results of his handiwork, a knock came through the door.

"Finch? May I come in?"

"Yes."

Reese poked his head in the bathroom. "Would you like me to cut your hair?"

Now that it was clean, Harold considered waiting until the next day but another glance in the mirror at its ragged appearance made him rethink his impulse.

"I think so."

John gestured for the smaller man to have a seat on the toilet lid and pulling the trash basket beside him, plunked down on the edge of the tub. Finch removed his glasses and closed his eyes as he felt the op's fingers card through his hair, using a comb to help remove the tangles he found.

Harold felt his cheeks flush...he hadn't worn his hair this long since the seventies. He was embarrassed to have John touch him in what Finch considered to be a very intimate way but the need to be well-groomed overrode his uneasiness. After a few minutes, Harold found himself relaxing beneath his partner's hands; as if this mundane activity was letting them both re-establish their connection. Finch felt safe and cared for.

His head seemed strangely light as lock after lock was removed and tossed into the trash. Reese cut his way around to the back of Finch's head, then had the billionaire turn so he could work on the other side. At last John put down the scissors.

"Shake your shirt off over the tub and then go stand in front of the mirror. I'm going to use the trimmer for the last bits." 

Harold did as requested and stood patiently as a towel was draped over his shoulders. The electric razor buzzed across his scalp and around his ears. Reese turned him away from the mirror and handed the recluse his glasses.

"Let me see what you look like with them on."

Sighing, Finch again complied with his partner's wishes and waited while the op scrutinized his handiwork. John's signature smirk played about his lips. He nodded towards the vanity. 

"What do you think?"

Fearing the worst, Harold faced the mirror. True, the cut was slightly shorter than he was accustomed to but Finch was relieved to see a very close facsimile of his normal self staring back at him. John had managed to get his sideburns almost perfect as well. Harold peered at the op‘s reflection. “Not too bad Mr. Reese but don’t expect a tip.”

The op laughed, the warm sound wrapping itself around Finch like a security blanket and anchoring him still more.

“Feel like trying to eat something?”

“Yes....but I’d rather do so in my room, if the ladies don’t object.”

Reese nodded. “Harry told her to just say when. I’ll bring a tray up for you.”

Finch turned to face the taller man, his pale eyes meeting the deeper blue of his partner’s. “Thank you, John.”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Harry looked up as John entered the kitchen. “How’s he doing?”

“He cleaned up and let me cut his hair. He’s hungry but wants to eat upstairs.”

The brunette nodded, spooning up a concoction of wild rice mixed with grilled chicken. She put some whole wheat bread slices on the plate along with steamed vegetables. She added a second plate to the tray and a pitcher of water.

“I’m sending up some lemon wedges if he wants to season the vegetables but no extra salt. There’s a bit in the chicken dish already and Harold’s stomach is going to be tricky until it gets used to solid food again. I want to get some calcium in him but dairy is out until we see how he does with this. Maybe tomorrow. Be sure you eat too.”

She handed Reese the tray. “We’ll leave you two alone tonight but don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.”

John smiled at her. “Harry, you are amazing...you know that?”

She laughed. “I remind Sally of it at least three or four times a day; just to be sure she remembers.” The tall woman shooed him out of the kitchen. “Go...feed your Wren.”

The op smiled as he headed back upstairs. _A more apt analogy than she realizes...._ he thought.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Finch ate about half of his meal, watching with amusement as his companion wolfed down the remainder along with his own portion. He took that time to really look at the taller man. John's face was gaunt and new lines had appeared around the op's eyes and mouth.

He was leaner too. Apparently, searching for the recluse had taken its toll on Reese. John hadn't said a word about what had happened on his end during the past eight months...Finch paused, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he'd been missing nearly half a year.

_So much of it was a blur....being held by Root, I remember. But after that...._

Finch stirred, the need to know everything that had taken place in his absence becoming impossible to put aside any longer.

"John...what-"

"Your contingency plan worked, Finch." Reese glanced sideways at the recluse, his face grim. "Although it took me nearly a week to make contact with your Machine."

The billionaire looked startled. " _Nearly a week?_ How many days, exactly?"

"Five...why?"

"I set the system up so that if there had been no Admin contact with the Machine after seven days, the 'Lost and Found' protocols would be initiated automatically." Finch stared at his partner. 

"How did you gain access earlier?"

John looked sheepish. "I told the damn thing off."

The op related his one-sided conversation with a surveillance camera, the resulting call on the public payphone and his interaction with the library computer. Finch's eyes went round with surprise. When Reese reached the point where the Machine found the digital file of his pastel drawing, the recluse's jaw dropped.

"And it led you here?"

John nodded, almost amused at Finch's reaction. "Why are you so surprised, Harold? Didn't you tell me you programmed it to recognize patterns....make connections that humans couldn't see?"

Harold bobbed his head in seeming agreement but inside his thoughts were in turmoil. _Monitoring and analyzing behavior patterns over extended periods to predict potential outcomes was a far cry from the intuitive, real-time decision making his creation had displayed with Reese. The Machine was..._ evolving. _There was no other word for it._

_The master programmer in him was overjoyed; vindicated that his Magnum Opus had achieved such a state. The pragmatic part of him however couldn't help being anxious. One decision would lead to another....and The Machine initiating actions to carry out those decisions was inevitable. Finch decided to keep these thoughts to himself however and deal with first things first._

"I need access to the Barnes' computer, Mr. Reese."

"I thought you would. We'll ask Harry first thing in the morning."

"Mr. Reese-"

John picked up the empty tray and gave his partner a stern look. "In the morning, Finch. You need more rest."

"I'm hardly a child, John..." Finch grumbled.

"But you are recuperating."

"I feel fine, just a little tired."

Reese regarded the fragile looking man that had become the centre of his world. 

"Harry says that the drugs you were on will have some pretty severe withdrawal symptoms, Finch. Until we know how you're going to be affected, you should take it easy."

The recluse snorted. "I'm fine Mr. Reese. Now that the last of the pharmaceuticals is out of my system, food and light exercise will have me back on form in no time."

The op didn't bother arguing. Finch had made up his mind that he was invincible. John would be there to catch him when he did fall and make sure Harold knew that he wasn't alone through all this. It was enough that the older man was safe and coherent. As for what would come…..Reese would deal with it as needed.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Finch took breakfast in his room the next morning and showered again. He was enjoying a re-read of _Silas Marner_ when a light tap at the door broke into his thoughts.

"Come in."

Harriet Barnes stepped inside, stopping just past the doorframe and smiled at her former patient. "Good morning, Mr. Wren. Do you remember me?"

Harold put his book aside and rose to his feet. "Of course Ms. Barnes…please." he gestured towards the chair facing his. 

"Thank you and call me Harry."

Finch gave a small smile, settling back into his seat and watching his host carefully. He prayed that she wasn't going to push him to speak about his experiences at the hospital….he was still sorting through his memories. For the first time, Finch was able to see the empathy in the caretaker's eyes. Her face held compassion but not a trace of pity…which alone made the recluse warm up to her even more. 

Harold felt a curious sense of disorientation. Although he remembered Blue Unit Harry with an almost proprietary fondness, he knew nothing about Harriet Barnes, the person. His instincts were prompting him to trust her with everything and actively at war with his equally strong sense of natural caution. Finch wasn’t quite ready to dispense with his self-preservation protocols. Time would tell but for the moment, there were courtesies to be observed.

"I understand that you and your wife were instrumental in aiding Mr. Reese with my rescue. I wanted to say that you both have our gratitude and appreciation for your assistance. We are in your debt."

"You're welcome, Mr. Wren but you don't owe us anything. I'm glad we could help. Has John told you about possible symptoms from the medications that you were given at St. Sebastian's?"

"He has Ms. Ba-…Harry," Finch amended. "I'm afraid I don't share your conviction that I will be incapacitated by them, however. I feel just fine, in fact I was hoping to join you for lunch so that I might be introduced to your wife."

"We'd like that very much, Sally's looking forward to meeting you." 

Finch felt Harry's eyes moving over him, assessing his condition. "Believe me Mr. Wren, no one would be happier than I would to be proven wrong but, I want you to know that Sally and I are here for you; if you need us."

Finch nodded his thanks, rubbing his fingers over the worn leather spine of his book. "I also wanted to ask if I might utilize your computer after we eat?"

"Of course. It's in the study downstairs, please help yourself."

"Thank you Harry, for your consideration and concern."

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

"Well Love, what do you think?" Harry tossed the salad a final time, mixing the balsam-vinaigrette dressing thoroughly into the greens. 

“He’s adorable. I can see why John is head over heels about him.”

 

_“Mr. Wren, may I present my wife Sally Reynolds-Barnes?”_

_The slender man grasped Sally’s fingers gently in his own and bowed over her hand. “A pleasure to meet you Mrs. Reynolds-Barnes. I can’t thank you and Harry enough for your hospitality towards Mr. Reese and myself. I apologize for any inconvenience we’ve caused you.”_

_The blonde was flustered at his old world courtesies and nodded, trying to compose herself._

_“Um...thank you very much Mr. Wren. Please, you and John take a seat. We’ll be right back with the food.”_

_The recluse inclined his head, a shy smile crossing his lips. He eased into the chair next to John._

 

“ _Adorable?!_ What the hell, Sally?!” Harry turned to look at her partner’s back as she transferred the salmon fillets to a serving plate.

“Well he is. He’s got the manners of a European gentleman and a certain refinement of features that just....”

“You got somethin’ you want to tell me, Dollface?”

Abandoning her salad bowl, Harry moved up to the blonde’s side and took in the huge grin covering Sally’s face. The taller woman chuffed in exasperation as her partner dissolved into quiet giggles.

“Had you going there, didn’t I Ettie?”

Harry grabbed her around the waist and silenced her with a possessive kiss. Sally wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck and made a quiet sound of satisfaction. Her partner kissed along her jawline to breathe in the blonde’s ear.

“You should be more careful, Toots. I could tell John what you said and let you both catfight over Harold...”

Sally thumped her on the shoulder. “You’re a bully!”

“Easy, Dollface. My money would be on you, you little spitfire.”

Sally laughed again and tweaked Harry’s nose. “Come on, let’s feed the men.”

Picking up the platter of fillets, the blonde looked cheekily over her shoulder. “Harold’s really not my type anyway....no straight guy would be that polite.”

Harry just stuck her tongue out in reply.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

John Reese was amazed. Finch had remarked on how inept he was at ‘human interactions’ but he positively scintillated with their hosts. That was not to say he was a social butterfly but was to all appearances relaxed and charming. Harold was full of compliments for the food, which Reese admitted was amazing; engaged Sally in a lively discussion of publishers and current trends in literature and managed a credible conversation with Harry about the best brands of cigars.

“I’ll leave you the name of a tobacconist I know who is able to get limited releases of several premium producers.” Finch offered as he finished his salmon. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

“Thank you Mr. Wren. I appreciate it.”

“Not that your habit needs encouraging.” Sally grumbled good-naturedly. 

Reese smirked at the blonde’s remark. He watched Harold out of the corner of his eye, finding it difficult to believe that Harry’s predictions about Finch would surface. The recluse seemed just fine. He tired easily, falling silent a few times during the meal to catch his breath but always re-joining the conversation after a moment or two. John was a little concerned at Finch compartmentalizing his trauma but he couldn’t blame his partner for doing so. 

“How long have you been an editor for Basingstoke and Forsythe, Sally?”

Ten years and Chief Editor of the Science and Technology division for the past two.” The blonde smiled at him. “I worked my way up from proof-reader. I admit I’m more partial to the life and earth science authors than those who write computer texts.”

“Oh?”

“The scientists, especially the paleontologists, know they need editing. They’re more concerned with getting their work and research down paper and are happy to let me put the puzzle pieces together for them....grammatically speaking, I mean.” 

She laughed and took a sip of water from her glass. “The computer people however are completely convinced that no-one could do _anything_ better than they can, much less edit their work...which is of course perfect already.”

Finch flushed a bit...feeling a tinge in his stomach as he remembered lamenting those exact facts to Nathan when, as a much younger software engineer he had submitted articles to technical journals. He felt his face grow warmer as he heard Reese’s quiet laughter next to him.

“A Herculean task, to be sure.” Finch managed to reply, picking up his own glass.

“One you sound like you enjoy nonetheless. Have you-”

The rest of Harold’s remark was cut off as he felt himself jerk forward and vomited forcefully next to his chair. His hand grasped the table edge to try and steady his now trembling body. “Mr. Reese..” he gasped before throwing up again, this time falling out of his chair into the steaming mess he’d so recently consumed.

John was at his side in a moment, cradling the billionaire’s head as he regurgitated a third time, the muscles in his neck and upper back tensing with the force of his efforts.

“I’m _s-sorry..._ ”

“It’s alright, Mr. Wren.” Harry moved the recluse’s chair out of the way. “John, would you give him a hand upstairs. We’ll take care of this.”

Reese picked the smaller man up, keeping his head higher than his feet so that he wouldn’t choke if he vomited again. Finch began shaking, sweat pouring down his face and soaking through his shirt.

“You’ll have to help him bathe, John....he won’t be able to stand on his own. Put him in bed and I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Reese nodded and carefully carried Harold up to the bathroom.

Harry rolled up her sleeves and went to get a mop and bucket of disinfectant from the laundry room. When she returned to the table, Sally had already begun clearing the table. 

Harry stopped her in the doorway, pressing her forehead to her partner’s. “Sorry Love....it’s happening sooner than I thought. I know the next couple of weeks are going to be hard.”

“But we’ll get through them, Ettie. Harold needs you, John’s going to need you and you’d better believe I need you! Let’s just do what we have to and let everything else sort itself out.” Sally kissed her partner’s cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too Dollface.” Harry smiled ruefully at the mess on the hardwood floor.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

NOTES: Well the FINAL chapter has been divided into two parts...thanks to Napoleon’s penchant for adding things right when I’m about ready to finish. More will be coming soon as well as an epilogue. Thanks for your patience everyone. The closest translation of the title is ‘Fragment Files’. 


	9. Part B:  System Reset

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter VIII Part 2: System Reset  
Rating: R to NC-17  
Warnings: Withdrawal symptoms. Verbal/emotional abuse.

NOTES: This final chapter will be in three parts, due to Napoleon's looking over my shoulder as I type and saying "oh you gotta add this!!". Thanks again to everyone for their patience.

 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Reese made it to the upstairs bathroom before Finch vomited again. Thankfully, he managed to do so in the sink. The op braced Harold’s body from behind with his own and began removing his clothing. 

“Wh-what are you...”

“You have to get in the shower Finch.”

“S-sick...sorry John.”

Reese knew that anything he said would just make Finch feel worse so he concentrated on stripping the recluse of his soiled shirt. He undid the drawstring on Harold’s sweatpants and pushed them and his boxers down over the slender hips. 

Finch’s knees took that opportunity to give out and John eased him onto the toilet seat. Kneeling down, the op removed Finch’s shoes and socks. As he put the discarded garments in the hamper, he noticed Harold shift his hands to cover himself.

John reached for a towel as he stood up, draping it across Finch's thighs.

"There's got to be...here it is!" He opened the linen closet and pulled out a bath bench, positioning it in the tub. He turned back to the recluse. "I need to move you now Harold, just hold on."

Finch made no protest as his partner picked him up and sat him on the plastic bench, facing the drain. His fingers clutched the towel, spasming as his stomach heaved again. He felt another wave of heat rising from its pit. _"John..."_

Reese moved out of the way just in time as a gush of yellow-tinged liquid hit the bottom of the bathtub. Finch dry-heaved; muscles locked into painful contractions as his outraged system protested its lack of chemical stimulation. At last his body relaxed and the wretched man was able to swallow; the bitter taste of bile filling his mouth.

John eased his partner back up into a sitting position and rinsed the tub out. He looked into the recluse's pain-filled eyes. 

“We’ve got to get you cleaned up Finch. I’m going to put your glasses on the sink, alright?”

Harold could only bob his head, too busy sucking air into his lungs and trying to settle his rebellious digestive system. The sweating had abated and now he felt as if he’d been put into an ice chest. “C-cold...” The op adjusted the shower’s temperature and began rinsing Finch down. The hot water did much to abate his shivering but Harold was beginning to feel disoriented. 

“Where are we?”

“In the Barnes’ house.” Reese placed the shower head to one side and soaped up a washcloth, rubbing it over the recluse’s chest and abdomen, making sure he removed all traces of residue. He worked his way down each of the older man’s legs; moving on to wash his back.

“Harry is here?”

“Yes Finch.”

Harold didn’t reply, his mind pulling him back to the day that Harriet Barnes had found him strapped to his bed and soaked in urine. She had taken him to the showers and washed him, just as John was doing now. 

Finch felt fingers rubbing across his scalp; the scent of lavender pricking his nostrils. He frowned, curious as to why the hospital had switched shampoos before once again remembering where he was.

His head was tilted back and Harold closed his eyes as the younger man rinsed the soap out of his hair. Reese kept one hand on his neck for support as he turned off the water. 

“I’m going to get a towel Finch, just stay put.”

_"Oh...."_

Harold's nausea had abated only to be replaced by intense cramps in his midsection. He doubled over, attempting to brace his hands on the sides of the tub. John caught his wrists and placed the recluse's arms on his own shoulders. The op draped a towel over his partner's head and pressed the excess water out of the spiky hair. 

Finch was too occupied by the pain radiating through his vital organs to react to John‘s proximity. Reese's hands maneuvered the thick terrycloth sheet over the older man's lower body, keeping his touch as impersonal as possible. He transferred Harold back to the toilet and got a clean t-shirt and sleep pants on him. 

By the time Reese placed him in the bed, Finch was capable of nothing more taxing than laying on his uninjured side, arms wrapped around his thin frame and grunting quietly as each new cramp seized him. Harold's senses were turned inward, attempting to anticipate when the pain would come and somehow prepare himself for it. He was aware that Harry had joined John in the guestroom but their conversation was meaningless background noise to him.

"How is he?"

The op turned from the ball of misery occupying the bed to see Harriet Barnes standing in the doorway. John shook his head. "He's stopped vomiting but"

"Cramps?"

At Reese's affirmation, Harry moved into the room, a fabric-wrapped bundle in her hands. "I can't give him any analgesics, they'd just irritate his stomach even more. Anything _stronger_ will only be a setback to his detox and harder on him in the long run."

Reese shifted uncomfortably as Harold moaned again. "Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Old-school treatment." The caregiver unrolled the bundle and John could see the electric cord and switch dangling from one end like a strange tail. 

"A heating pad?"

Harry plugged it in and set it on 'medium'. "The heat will help relax his muscles and calm him." 

She stepped up to the bedside. "Mr. Wren? I know you're in pain. May I examine you?"

Finch would have let her kill him at this point to stop the twisting in his bowels and made a sound of affirmation. Harry pulled the covers down, folding them over his knees. Gentle, competent fingers lifted the hem of his shirt and a warm object was pressed against his abdomen.

Harold tensed, apprehensive at what Harry was doing, then sighed as soothing waves of heat counteracted the antics of his irate muscles. His breathing slowed down; the tension in his shoulders and chest easing, which helped even more. He felt the blankets being tucked back around him and Harry's hand on his forehead, her thumb stroking his brow. 

This small act of kindness tipped his stressed emotions over the edge. To his great embarrassment, Finch felt tears leaking from beneath his eyelids. He seemed powerless to stop them but Harry made no comment about their appearance. 

"This should help Mr. Wren. If you need anything, John will be here."

Finch heard her footsteps crossing the floor and the sound of the door closing behind her. Further sounds of his partner removing his shoes and changing clothes came to his ears. Harold heard the creaking of springs from the bedside chair.

"Try to rest Finch."

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

It seemed an eternity before Reese's breathing evened out into the slow, regular exhalations of sleep. As his pain faded, Finch's mind became active again. He turned the heating pad off, lowering it gently to the floor by the cord so as not to disturb his partner. The recluse was exhausted but sleep refused to alleviate the problem.

Harold vaguely recalled insomnia being one of the side-effects Harry had mentioned in their earlier conversation. The irony of it was all too obvious. _The one time I want to, I can’t....._ He tried to concentrate on what limited amount of information he possessed on chemical effects on the human nervous system; trying to assimilate strategies to help him cope but his thoughts stubbornly refused to stay focused.

Finch flitted from his current situation to his involuntary trip on Ecstasy.... _Jordan...Root..._ **the White** _...anger, pain, fear, despair....._ He felt his heart speed up and he couldn‘t catch his breath. Harold burrowed his head into the pillows, desperately trying to calm down. He forced himself to take deep breaths. _Not there...I’m safe. John is here....taking care of me._

Finch replayed the past twenty-four hours in his mind, nearly the only moments of lucidity he'd had in five months. In each of them John Reese was a stolid, comforting presence...freeing him, holding him when he awoke, cleaning him up after.... Harold felt heat rise in his face as he remembered John's hands on him, supporting his body as he vomited, removing his clothes and bathing him.

John had washed him with more gentleness than Finch would have expected from the ex-soldier. _But that's not true is it, old man...._ Harold's thoughts flashed back to Reese's interactions with Leila and the way he had held her; with the same delicacy that Finch used with the most fragile of circuit components. 

The recluse knew on a subconscious level the depth of emotion that John Reese was capable of. That warm selflessness and instinct to protect that the military first turned to patriotism and later the CIA brutally tried to beat out of him, once again started to surface during their association. The way John had held the baby's hand before saying goodbye to her; the look on his face, all but shouted his renewed capacity to feel to the only person present to bear witness to it. 

It was that same care Harold was the recipient of now. _Except that Leila deserved it....I don't. I willingly put him in danger every day. I hold him at arm's length, even knowing that he would give his life to protect me...even though I_ do _trust him._ Guilt gnawed his chest like a hungry rat.

The quiet sound of Reese's snoring penetrated Finch's depressed thoughts. _With all that, he's still here._ Harold sighed, concentrating on the sound of his partner's respirations...

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Finch's legs felt as if they were trying to tie themselves into knots. The pain was so severe that even getting out of bed was nearly impossible. Harry showed John massage techniques to help counter the debilitating cramps._

_"Here, try drinking this."_

_Reese held a cup of watery, fruit-flavored liquid to the recluse's lips. Finch took a few sips and then turned away. Another bout of vomiting had reduced him to only being able to consume an infant's electrolyte suspension. Harold swore he could feel the weight dropping off him, his body wasting...unable to stomach solid food. He wished they would just let him die...John, Harry, Sally the whole lot of them. He hated being dependent upon them, John most of all. It was humiliating for the very private man to have his operative attending his most personal needs._

 

_**one week later** _

_The intestinal symptoms had passed, allowing Finch to finally consume real food. As his strength began to return, the billionaire insisted on dressing and demanded a measure of privacy._

_"I'd be worried if Harold didn't want to be alone, John...it's normal at this stage."_

_The caregiver reassured Reese, who'd just had the guestroom door slammed in his face. Harry patted the frustrated man on the shoulder._

_"Look, he's had all of us hovering over him for the past seven days. He's needing to assert his independence again. The hard part is just beginning John. The next stages of his detox are going to be rough...more on us than on Harold."_

 

Finch paced the length of the guestroom, his restlessness increasing with every circuit he made of the small space. His irritation with John Reese's constant attention had finally come to a head when he ordered the ex-agent downstairs. 

_I don't need him on top of me. I'm not a stray dog...or some child that needs to be watched. I'm more capable than all of them...more intelligent, certainly._ Harold sniffed in disdain at the thought of any of the other three members of the household trying to compete with him intellectually.

The uneven tread of his shoes on the hardwood floor sped up as disjointed thoughts flew through his brain. _John observing him...probing for weaknesses in his defenses...flaws to exploit._

The recluse's normal paranoia kicked into high gear as he conjured scenarios of the op in collusion with Harry to return him to St. Sebastian's. Why else would they be keeping him here? Finch stopped in his tracks as he heard a tap on the bedroom door.

"Harold? I brought some tea up for you."

Reese entered the room, a tray held in one hand.

Finch stared at the intruder, his eyes narrowed as he tried to process what the other man's interruption might mean. He flicked his eyes to the steaming mug and plate of cookies that his operative had placed on the dresser. _Trying to drug me into submission again?_ He then looked back to see John watching him, a puzzled look on his face. _I think not!_

"You okay, Finch?"

"Of course Mr. Reese....my goodness, why _wouldn't_ I be 'okay'?"

The rage in his partner's voice caught John by surprise, the laughter that followed his remark even more so. 

"Oh yes, that's right....I was abducted, starved, drugged and incarcerated for half the year!"

The billionaire's skin itched...as if his soul wanted to crawl out of it and hide where no-one, not even his erstwhile partner could find him. Harold's fevered, disjointed thoughts coalesced at last into one certain conclusion. Just like the rest of the world, John Reese couldn't be trusted. He'd let Finch down in the most fundamental of ways and it was time to make certain he left for good. 

Harold would be better off alone....as he always had been. 

All the anxiety that the recluse had kept buried, burst to the surface; fueled by the extreme paranoia that was coursing through him. 

"Why weren't you there sooner? I spent three months as the _plaything_ of that…." Finch broke off, unable to find a suitable epithet for Caroline Turing. He shook his head and continued. 

"Then of course there was the hospital. For four months I rotted in that filthy hell. You have _no idea_ what I've endured."

"Finch, I-"

"And where were you _Mr. Reese_ , while I was being tortured all this time? Oh that's right," Harold's voice dripped sarcasm. "You were helping the numbers, weren't you? Like a good little soldier." 

The recluse began pacing back and forth again. "Carrying on heroically without me! Hoping perhaps that I never _would_ be found?" Finch turned accused filled eyes on the taller man. 

"That's what you really want isn't it, control of The Machine? Well I'm so very sorry to disrupt your plans, Mr. Reese." 

Comprehension dawned in Finch's mind. 

"You knew who she was when you sent her out to meet my car. You _told_ her about the Machine....about our work and hoped that she would take care of your little problem for you; so that everyone would see you as the tragic hero to be worshipped."

The billionaire's stare radiated contempt as he sneered at the op. "You forgot that I know _exactly_ what you are, Mr. Reese." Finch's voice dripped scorn.

"You're nothing more than an alcohol-soaked, pathetic wreck. A worthless, washed up operative who still has delusions of being everyone's savior."

The recluse felt a fierce vindication flooding him as he continued his verbal attack.

"You would be nothing if it weren't for me. I _made_ you and unfortunately, just like Dr. Frankenstein's creation you have become a menace...out of control. You're an unnatural monster!"

Finch balled his fists up and took a step towards the taller man. _"Get out!"_ he hissed, his face purple with rage. "Get the hell away from me!!"

When John didn't move, the billionaire switched tactics immediately. All trace of emotion had fled from his expression, leaving behind a cold, analytical mask. Closing the distance between them, Finch tilted his head as much as he was capable of and looked Reese directly in the eyes. His voice was soft, matter of fact.

"You failed Jessica...you couldn't save her. It would have been better for everyone if I'd just left you to kill yourself."

Harold's word flayed the younger man's heart but the op gave no outward sign of how badly he was hurting. He took a deep, settling breath; damping down his pain.

"You have your gun with you...why don't you s-" Finch broke off, staring into the middle distance.

"Harold?"

The recluse's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, his body twisting and jerking.

_"HARRY!"_

John was on his knees at Finch's side; hand pressing the smaller man‘s shoulders to the floor. He heard the sound of feet pounding up the staircase.

"John?! What's," Harry looked in the door. 

_"Shit! He's seizing!_ John, let him go. Don't try to restrain him, just let it run its course. Move anything hard or sharp-edged out of his way.”

The caregiver knelt at Finch’s head, not touching him but close enough so that she could turn him if needed. Reese pulled the cedar chest off to one side and squatted down between his friend and the bedpost, ready to be a human buffer.

“What happened, John?”

“He was...yelling at me and then he just collapsed.”

Harry looked over at him, her eyes full of understanding. “He was tearing you down, you mean?”

Reese nodded, swallowing. 

“I came close to walking out Harry.......” his voice was quiet. The op kept his eyes on Finch’s writhing body, wincing as the muscle spasms caused his neck to jerk sideways. _He’s going to be in agony after this._

“John, the important thing is that you didn’t. Will you bring me some towels?” The request was made in such a normal tone of voice that it took Reese aback for a second. Then he saw the dark, spreading stain on the front of Harold’s trousers.

“This is going to kill him.....”

John returned from the guest bath with two thick bath sheets. Harold’s tremors had stopped and he now took deep, shuddering breaths.

“Help me roll him over in the recovery position.” 

They turned the recluse on his side and Harry took his pulse, asking Reese to remove Finch’s shoes and socks as she did so. 

She waited in silence for a minute, her fingers pressed against the side of Finch’s neck before nodding.

“His heart rate has slowed back to normal. He should be alright. I’m going to get a washcloth...would you remove his pants and underwear? I'll ask you to clean him up if you don't mind...I think he’d rather come around with you helping him instead of me right now.”

“Alright.” With gentle hands, John unbuckled Harold’s belt and opened the fly on his slacks. He slid them and the recluse’s boxers down the thin legs and handed them off to Harry in exchange for the wet cloth. He sponged down Finch’s thighs and crotch, drying him carefully with the clean towel. 

“I’m going to go now. He should start waking up shortly. If he hasn’t after five minutes, call me.”

“Harry? Thank you.”

She squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “I know this is hard but you’re doing great, John. Just...be there for him.” The caregiver shut the door behind her and almost as if on cue, Harold stirred at his side.

“Finch? Can you hear me?”

The billionaire licked his lips. “Yes...why am I on the floor?” Finch brushed a hand over his bare thigh and frowned. “Where are my pants?”

“You had a seizure Harold. You...well, I needed to clean you up.”

Finch’s face turned a deep red and he closed his eyes, drawing his legs up as much as his injuries would allow. _“Oh God....”_

The dejection in his voice undid John and he reached out to stroke Finch's hair.

“It’s alright, Harold. I’ve got you.”

“There's no reason why you should....” Finch broke down, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, as if his soul had been torn in half. “John.....just leave, _please_!”

Reese lifted the billionaire’s limp upper body into his arms, supporting him against his own chest. “I won’t Harold. It’s hell for you, I know but you‘re not alone.”

Harold lifted one hand and covered Reese’s where it rested on his torso. “What I said before....I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” 

“I’m so tired...” Harold’s whisper was barely audible. John allowed himself the luxury of holding his friend closer as Finch gave in to despair. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**


	10. Chapter VIII Part 3:  System Test

Title: Behind Block Walls  
Chapter VIII Part 3: System Test  
Rating: PG-R  
Warnings: Angst, light slash  
Pairings: Finch/Reese, OFC/OFC  
Word Count: 5472

　

NOTES: Well, for better or for worse we're coming down to the wire. It looks like there will be an epilogue for this story in the near future but it will have to wait until I get my regular fics back on track. Thanks one last time for everyone's encouragement, reviews, comments and generally positive reaction to this story.

On a side note, I've grown very fond of Harry and Sally myself and hate to retire them to my OC storage locker while they're still so new. Who knows where they may turn up (but I promise if it is in future 'PoI' offerings from myself, it will NOT be gratuitously.)

 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

_“I’m so tired...” Harold’s whisper was barely audible. John allowed himself the luxury of holding his friend closer as Finch gave in to despair._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

**_two weeks later_ **

The strains of music carried to the kitchen where the billionaire was fixing himself a cup of tea. Following the auditory trail to its source, Finch eased down the hallway and snuck a peek into the living room to see his hosts dancing. He recognized the song at once...his parents had listened to it often. It was one of the reasons Harold had come to enjoy the mellow timbre of Bobby Darin's voice.

 

_The world abounds with many delights;_  
 _Magical sights, fanciful flights._  
 _And those who dream on beautiful nights;_  
 _Dream of beautiful things._

 

As he expected, Harry was leading. The taller woman had one hand resting firmly against Sally's lower back, guiding her steps. For the blonde's part, her right hand was balanced on Harry's shoulder; fingers only just making contact with the brunette. Harry smiled down at Sally and began to sing.

 

_Beautiful days for sunshine lazing;_  
Beautiful skies and shores.  
Beautiful days when I can gaze;  
In beautiful eyes like yours. 

 

The blonde grinned back, letting Harry turn her into a spin before being pulled back against her spouse’s strong frame. The petite woman's voice joined her partner's.

 

_You wonder why the nightingale sings;_  
 _Lovers have wings, people wear rings._  
 _The world is full of beautiful things;_

_Beautiful people too.  
Beautiful people like you....._

 

Finch felt a raw envy settle in the pit of his stomach... _they're so happy_. At once he was consumed with shame. That Harold's existence was what it was had nothing to do with the two women. _To the contrary, I owe them my life. I just wish...._

Harry held Sally tighter, closing her eyes and nuzzling the crown of her head. "I love you, Dollface."

Sally sighed. "I love you too, Gumshoe."

Harry laughed. "That's the most unromantic pet name ever, Sal...but I can't get enough of hearing you use it."

"You're fault, Ettie. You and your movies."

"Happy Anniversary, Love.” Harry grimaced. “Not the optimal way to spend our seventh but you know I'll make it up to you."

"Maybe not optimal but I wouldn't ask you to abandon John and Harold. As for making up for it..." Sally tilted her head up and gave her partner a thorough kiss. 

"I'm _counting_ on it, Gumshoe. After all, the way I figure it we're tag teaming our seventh and fifteenth, so I expect a huge present."

"And you're worth every penny, Dollface." Harry replied in her best Bogey voice.

Finch silently returned to the kitchen and stared out the window into the backyard, his tea forgotten. _Fifteen years together...and they're celebrating by having to take care of me._ True the majority of his severe symptoms had begun to abate; enough in fact that Reese felt secure leaving him to run some errands for the recluse.

Harold knew however that he was not yet ready to travel. Part of him was very frustrated at his weakened condition. He had a sudden urge to go outside. Finch knew better than to walk in the yard unattended but he didn't think sitting on the back porch would cause problems and he stepped out the kitchen door. 

He eased himself into one of the padded wicker chairs and felt a cool breeze brush by him. The heavy, gray clouds covering the sky seemed an apt reflection of his emotional state at the moment. 

Finch closed his eyes and took stock of his situation. _Weak, exhausted but getting better. I want to go home; I want...._ Harold knew exactly what he wanted. The way John had been looking after him these past weeks...surely it meant _something_. If only he had the courage to ask Reese. 

Added to this was the guilt Harold felt at his treatment of his partner. He was still amazed that the op hadn’t walked out in response to all Finch had said and done to him. The recluse shook his head. _If his feelings aren't the same, then my approaching him may very well drive him away. I couldn’t bear it if he left._

“Harold? Is everything alright?”

Finch blinked, looking up to see the caregiver looking at him from the backdoor, a dark bundle draped over her arm. Finch gave her a slight smile in reassurance.

"Harry. I hope I haven't interrupted you and Sally..."

"Not at all. I’m glad to see you exploring the house." The brunette nodded towards the chair grouping at the far end of the yard. "Did you want to take a walk?"

Finch looked into the eyes of the person who had taken care of him at St. Sebastian's; still half-expecting pity from her and finding nothing but warmth in the woman's gaze. He nodded, levering himself out of the chair.

Harry let the older man negotiate the stairs without offering to help and noted that Harold moved with a bit more confidence when he realized she wasn't going to assist him. He paused at the foot of the steps and took a deep breath. The leaves were just starting to turn and the peeks of gold and red to be seen promised a spectacular show to come.

“Harold?”

Finch turned to see the caregiver holding a cardigan out to him. “It’s chilly out here.” 

He noted that she wore a sweater of her own and he shrugged into the woolen outer garment. It warmed him nicely and he had to admit the dark gray shade was to his taste.

“It belonged to my grandfather.” She smiled. “It fits you pretty well.”

“You shouldn’t have-” Finch started to take it off but stopped at Harry’s hand on his arm.

“I want you to wear it. Please.”

“Thank you.”

They walked in silence to the outdoor chairs and took seats side by side. Finch took a moment to catch his breath. He’d been even less active than usual while dealing with his symptoms and the stress to his system from detoxing had taken its toll on his stamina. His lips twitched with things he wanted to say but the recluse was at a loss on how to express them.

“Do you feel like talking?” 

Harry’s voice was encouraging without making him feel patronized. _How can I ever repay her for what she’s done?_ The thought came to him at once: _trust her, Harold....she has no motive except to help you._

The billionaire sighed....his inner voice was right. 

“I’m not sure where to begin....”

“Start anywhere and we’ll go from there.” The caregiver stared off into the surrounding trees. 

The recluse sensed she was giving him her full attention and yet still affording him a measure of privacy. He took a deep breath and began to speak, the words flowing from him in an ever increasing stream as he let them out, to the woman at his side who simply....listened. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

John Reese entered the kitchen to find Sally seated at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. He placed two plastic shopping bags on the counter and joined the petite woman, pouring a mug for himself and offering to top hers off.

“Where are-”

Sally pointed out the window. John stood up and opened the kitchen door. He sighed in frustration.

"I don't understand why he'll talk to Harry and not me…."

The blonde woman smiled at her disgruntled houseguest. John scowled. "Doesn't it bother you, Sally?" 

Reese stared out the screen door at the two figures sitting in the backyard under the trees. "It's almost like he's…." the op broke off, growling under his breath.

"He's interested in her, you mean?"

John's head snapped around and he stared at Sally. "So I'm not just imagining things…."

"John….Ettie's seen Harold at his worst…absolute rock bottom." The blonde's eyes were warm. "She took care of him in St. Sebastian's, was the only one who _did_. He had everything taken from him, including his free-will. He _needs_ to know that he’s strong again. That he's intelligent and capable." 

"Of course he is! I don't see why-"

Sally touched his arm. “Until he hears it from a source he validates, he won't believe it himself. Harold feels he has to prove to Ettie that he can take care of himself now. He needs to hear her acknowledge that."

Comprehension dawned in Reese's head and the op felt the tension in his shoulder ease. _It's part of his healing process. He hates what happened to him and he needs that approval to convince himself that he's alright._

“The other reason is that you’re too close for him to feel comfortable opening up to right now.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning yes, Ettie’s seen him naked and helpless but as a healthcare worker in a professional capacity...not as a friend or a _lover_.”

Her words stopped John cold. 

Sally continued, “If you had any doubts about Harold's feelings for you John, this should allay them. He loves you, Mr. Testosterone. Just don’t expect too much too soon from him. Harold’s been through an awful lot and it will take time for him to process it all. He _will_ talk to you, when he‘s ready. If you push him for intimacy, you could drive him away for good.”

Reese’s jaw dropped at her frank words and Sally started laughing. “Good grief....I’m channeling Ettie. I guess it’s true what they say about couples becoming like one another.”

The blonde stood up to put her coffee cup in the sink and was surprised to be enveloped in a hug. Sally stiffened for only an instant before hugging the op back. 

“I hope Harold and I get the chance to find that out for ourselves.”

“I _know_ you will.”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

"Thank you for your trust." 

Harriet Barnes settled back into her chair, ostensibly watching a pair of cardinals flit around their territory and processing everything her former patient had just related.

Finch waited for her response to his words. Somehow, without his intending to, the recluse had told the caregiver all about his altered perceptions of the hospital. Of his abuse at the hands of Jason Holston and his fear of dying in St. Sebastian‘s. A part of him was revolted at his lack of discretion. He felt vulnerable at admitting his feelings to someone else.

“You survived a very horrific experience, Mr. Wren and weathered it in better shape many would have.” Harry deliberately used Harold’s surname; both as a tangible demonstration of her respect for the man and a way to give him back a sense of boundaries. 

“I thought Ward C was a hard-drive and you were a computer program....I hardly consider that to be in _good shape_.” Finch’s voice was full of self-loathing.

“You developed a coping mechanism; based on elements of your psyche that were familiar, comfortable. You _preserved_ what little awareness of your surroundings you had left and managed to process your environment in terms you could understand.”

Harry looked at him at last. “Many people shut down, become catatonic when exposed to such radical changes...especially those _against their will_. Others disassociate completely and withdraw into worlds created by their own minds, in order to maintain some kind of _control_ over their situations. You rationalized a place for yourself in a hostile situation, utilizing symbols you could understand. You didn't let it _break_ you."

“All it means is I have a vivid imagination.”

“What it _means_ is that you have a strong instinct for survival and an ability to adapt. You have nothing to be ashamed of Mr. Wren. If you hadn’t reacted exactly as you did, I wouldn’t have been able to reach you.”

Harry touched his arm, emphasizing her point. “You never would have made that drawing of John and he wouldn’t have been able to find you. _You really saved yourself_.”

Finch was jolted by the pride he saw in Harry’s eyes. _Harriet Barnes was wasted at that place._

 

“I think you’ll be ready to go home soon, you just need to get some strength back. I know John will be glad to have you to himself again.”

Finch felt his ears grow warm, but didn’t acknowledge her remark.

“You know, when I first met Sally, I was afraid to speak to her.”

“But you're so comfortable together!” Harold blurted out, looking ashamed at once. “I’m sorry...it’s just I’ve never seen two people more happy to be with each other.”

Harry smiled. “I thought she was way out of my league. She was beautiful, intelligent, successful and what was I? Just some orderly at a retirement home.”

Finch felt his curiosity pricking him but refused to be rude. Harry saved him the trouble, telling him all about their initial meeting and the bumpy path that led the two women to their current relationship.

“What I didn't know at the time was that Sal was just as afraid to approach me as I was her." Harry laughed, remembering the tragi-comedic dance they'd enacted in the beginning. 

"We came close to giving up a few times but at last we both swallowed our fears and told each other how we felt."

The caregiver fixed Harold with a knowing look. "It turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to us."

Harry watched her former patient digest what she'd told him. She could almost hear the gears in the man's mind whirring. 

"Does John know how you feel, Harold?"

Finch started; his eyes wide, almost fearful as he looked at her. "No, he doesn't. You hav-"

Harry shook her head. "Never. I'm not a doctor, but everything you've told me or I've observed I’ve kept in confidence. I haven't lied to you yet, Mr. Wren, I'm not about to start now."

 

_"They lied to you....I never will." But is that really true, Harold? Oh, perhaps outright you haven't but there’s so many things you've withheld from him. Omissions are just lies by another name. And the biggest of all is this....._

 

"What I do know is that John would move the earth to protect you. Nothing short of being dead would keep him from doing that. Sally and I both can see how he feels. Maybe now its time to open your own eyes."

Harry leaned forward and gripped Finch’s shoulder in reassurance. “There’s more than just friendship between the two of you, I get that. John follows your lead. He’s very subtle about it but I’ve spent my career learning how to read behavior. I think he works for you and no, I _don’t_ want to know what you do.” She added, sensing he was becoming agitated.

The caregiver thought it best to leave things for now and recalled a request Finch had made just before his symptoms began. 

“You said before you wanted to use our computer, Mr. Wren...if you still would like to, you’re more than welcome.”

Harold started again. _How could he have forgotten? The Machine had been operating for two weeks without any interface at all, even Reese’s. How many numbers had come up? What had happened to them?_

Finch halted that train of thought at once. Even if he _had_ been in the library there would have been nothing he could have done to help anyone. He’d only just begun to think and function rationally again in the last few days and Reese would have been to occupied taking care of the recluse to be of much use either. The important thing now was to re-establish contact with his creation and move forward.

“Thank you, I do have some urgent business to conduct.” Finch paused, at a loss to know what to say to her. How to express his appreciation for her help. 

“You’re....a very wise person, Harry.” he began as they stood up. 

The brunette gave a rueful chuckle. “I appreciate that you think so but I don’t consider myself to be. I'd call it a case of life knocking me around more than the average person. With the scars and bruises come experience...I _hope_ so at least.” she flicked a glance at him as they approached the house.

“I think you understand that too, Harold.”

They paused at the bottom of the steps and faced one another; realizing that they both had been through more than their share of adversity. Finch wondered what Harry _wasn’t_ telling him....he sensed that although her battles hadn’t been as physically violent and earth-changing as his own, they had still affected her deeply. There were shadows in her eyes that he’d not noticed before and it dawned on him that only now was she allowing them to be seen.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

Settled behind antique desk in Harry's study, the billionaire fired up the caregiver's laptop and Googled 'medical titanium'. Wikipedia was one of the first links to come up and Finch clicked it, landing on an entry devoted to the metallic element. The majority of the page was in highly technical language, punctuated with illustrations of chemical equations and the element's atomic structure.

Harold hit three seemingly random keys and waited with infinite patience as the request was routed and re-routed around the globe. After what seemed an eternity, due to the limited processing capacity of the small computer, the monitor went black and a single flashing cursor appeared in the bottom left-hand corner.

The recluse's lips quirked in satisfaction and he entered a long stream of numerals:

**0110000101100100011011010110100101101110001000000111001001100101011000110110111101110  
** 1100110010101110010011001010110010000100000001000000111010001100101011100100110110101  
1010010110111001100001011101000110010100100000011011000110111101110011011101000010000  
0011000010110111001100100001000000110011001101111011101010110111001100100001000000111  
00000111001001101111011101000110111101100011011011110110110001110011(1)

 

Once again the screen went dark. Finch looked out the window at the rain which had just begun to fall. A beep recalled his attention to the laptop as a new string of ones and zeros appeared on the monitor:

**011100110111010101100010011010100110010101100011011101000011101000100000001000000110000  
** 101100100011011010110100101101110001000000111001001100101011000110110111101110110011001  
010111001001111001000011010000101001110011011101000110000101110100011101010111001100111  
010001000000010000001100001011001000110110101101001011011100010000001110011011001010110  
001101110101011100100110010100001101000010100110000101100011011101000110100101101111011  
011100011101000100000001000000110110001101111011100110111010000100000011000010110111001  
100100001000000110011001101111011101010110111001100100001000000111000001110010011011110  
111010001101111011000110110111101101100011100110010000001110100011001010111001001101101  
011010010110111001100001011101000110010101100100000011010000101001101111011101010111010  
001100011011011110110110101100101001110100010000000100000011100000111001001101001011011  
010110000101110010011110010010000001110011011110010111001101110100011001010110110100100  
000011100110110010101100011011101010111001001100101(2)

　

Harold watched as a series of windows; each displaying a graph or camera feed popped up on the monitor. He opened yet another window and began typing furiously; waiting for the system to reply and then responding with another round of keystrokes. 

Access pathways were re-opened, code strings examined and functions monitored to ascertain their efficiency. Satisfied that his system was operating within normal parameters, Harold set about dealing with business of a more personal nature. 

A state agency was accessed, a non-profit website and several bank accounts. Finch finished his transactions and communications then tapped a single key, wiping the screen. He entered another series of code:

**011010010110111001101001011101000110100101100001011101000110010100100000011100110110001  
** 101101111011100100110001101101000011001010110010000100000011001010110000101110010011101  
000110100000100000011100000111001001101111011101000110111101100011011011110110110000100  
000011001100110111101110010001000000111010001101000011010010111001100100000011011000110  
1111011000110110000101110100011010010110111101101110 (3)

　

The cursor at the bottom of the screen flashed once, twice then disappeared. The Barnes' normal homepage was displayed, with no signs that any other interface had been utilized. Finch logged off of the 'net connection and powered down the PC.

The Machine knew where he was and that he was restored. He turned on the burn phone John had picked up for him while he was out and checked his messages. Only one showed: **'System Parameters Restored To Normal'** The message deleted itself once he flagged it as 'read'.

Finch checked his watch and was surprised to see that it was almost time for dinner. Almost two hours had slipped past while he was interfacing with his creation. Harold admitted to himself that he'd deliberately taken his time with routine admin tasks and database queries to re-establish patterns that the Machine was used to. _Reassuring 'baby' that 'Daddy' is home again and missed it._

The recluse smiled at his whimsical analogy. _That will be back to normal at least....if other things won’t for some time. I think I should have a conversation with Mr. Reese as well._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

Supper was pleasant for a change and included all four of them. Reese was relaxed, a state he’d not felt since before Finch had been taken. Harold had returned from his talk with Harry thoughtful but calm. He had thanked John warmly for picking up the items he’d requested and then sequestered himself in the study until it was time to eat. The op knew that the recluse meant to make contact with the Machine. 

Personally, John was relieved. He’d had enough of being the human extension, even on a _limited_ basis, for the thing. He knew where his skills lay and he was more than happy to have his handler and friend take the reins of their operation again. Finch was the master strategist, not he. 

As for Harold, he was quiet but very cordial with both his hosts....insisting that he and John take care of the dishes once their meal was over. Harry expressed her thanks and she and Sally headed upstairs for the evening.

“If you scrape, Mr. Reese I’ll rinse and stack.”

The op carried plates and tableware from the dining room, emptying them into the garbage and then handing each utensil over to the recluse to place in the dishwasher.

Concentrating on his task, Harold worked his nerve up gradually. He kept his gaze focused on the cup and saucer he was rinsing.

“I was wondering if you and I might talk when we’re finished here.”

Reese looked up from cleaning the last of the plates before placing them in the sink.

“Sure....about anything in particular?”

Finch was hyper-aware of his partner’s proximity, feeling John’s body heat as he stood next to the op...conscious of the sounds of Reese’s breathing and the scent of his aftershave. He felt unaccountably flustered and covered his confusion by rinsing the remaining dishes and stowing them in the washer.

He turned to his partner, wiping his hands dry on the small towel next to the sink. Harold swallowed, taking in a deep breath to settle his anxiety. “Mr. Reese I-”

“I love you.” the op blurted, interrupting the recluse’s carefully prepared speech.

“I- _what?_ ”

“I love you, Harold.” John stepped closer until their chests brushed. 

Finch’s eyes were even larger than usual behind his spectacles, wide with surprise at the op’s words. His mouth opened and closed in mute protest as he tried to process just exactly what was happening.

_He loves me? But how, I just....I mean I was going to say-_ Harold’s whirling thoughts were stopped by John’s lips covering his mouth in a kiss that was hesitant...timid almost, as if he were afraid the billionaire would push him away.

Fortunately for both of them, Finch’s body took over; the recluse’s lips moving hungrily against his partner‘s, his arms wrapping around the other man’s waist and pulling him close. Reese was ecstatic.

The op didn’t force the kiss into deeper intimacy although he was sorely tempted. He wanted so badly to _taste_ Harold. He’d keep his tongue in place, _for now_ , he thought with wry humor and concentrated on tempering his passion with gentle explorations of Finch’s cheek and chin with his lips.

Finch groaned in his ear as the op nuzzled his way along the recluse’s jawline to press kisses against his throat. He turned his head to find John’s lips again, tasting coffee and cinnamon as his tongue explored the mouth that opened eagerly to him. 

_So much for restraint...._ Reese thought. With reluctance he broke the kiss, pulling back from the man he wanted so much to have naked and writhing beneath him. 

“John?” Finch’s voice was full of concern.

“It’s alright Harold....I just need to get my breath.”

The recluse realized what his partner meant and darted a quick glance down at the other man’s hips. John’s erection was obvious, straining against his jeans.

_“Oh....”_ Harold was assailed by a storm of emotions; embarrassment, desire, a fierce pride that he was the cause of the op’s current condition and a slight tremor of fear. His gray-blue eyes met the intense sapphire ones. “I’m sorry...I’m not ready for....I mean...” 

Reese stroked his shoulders, calming the older man. “I understand Harold. I’d never push you into anything but I need you to know something. I would do anything in my power to protect you....keep you safe and I will never, ever hurt you.”

The op looked down, his mouth tight as he recalled his fears. “When Root took you, I thought it would kill me. I had to keep helping the numbers and all I could turn up about you were dead ends and unanswered questions. I couldn’t find you!” All the pent up frustration of the past eight months came rushing back.

“If it weren’t for your Machine....It was the Machine that found you.”

Finch placed a hand on Reese‘s chest, feeling the steady heartbeat through the thin cotton shirt the op wore. 

“The Machine may have found my _location_ , John but it was you who got me out of there. I can never forget that. Only someone who really cared about me would have done what you did. The reason I haven’t said anything before now is because I didn’t know how you felt...I love you too, John.”

Reese made a quiet sound and pulled Finch close again, pleased to feel the smaller man’s arms clutch at his back.

“Will you stay with me, John? Tonight, I mean.” the recluse’s voice was muffled, given his face was pressed into Reese’s chest.

“How do you mean?”

Harold swallowed then, turning his face up towards his partner. “I would like it if....if you would sleep next to me. If you want to.” He amended hastily.

“I’d like that very much. Would you mind if I held you?”

Finch shook his head. “I....want you to.”

“Just so you know, Harold, I sleep in the nude. I hope this won’t be a problem for you.” He sensed the recluse’s hesitation and pressed a kiss against Finch’s forehead.

“I want to be with you Harold...but only when you‘re ready to. You know I’d never force anything on you.”

Finch relaxed and gave the op a slight smile. “I know you wouldn’t John. Shall we go up now?”

“Be glad too, Mr. Finch.” 

Reese switched off the kitchen light and followed his partner up the stairs to their room. 

The op stripped out of his clothing and stretched out on the bed. Finch stared at him for a long moment; the pale eyes roving from his feet up to his chest and then back to Reese’s pelvis, noting the state of semi-arousal the younger man was in. When he met the op’s eyes, John smiled reassuringly...doing his best to set Finch at ease.

Harold turned his back to the bed and took his time removing his shirt. He stepped out of his loafers, unbuckled his belt and eased open the zipper on his pants. Slipping the tweed slacks over his hips, Finch eased into the bedside chair and removed them. He pulled off his socks and stood back up, clad only in a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of royal blue silk boxer shorts. 

John made an appreciative noise as he looked at the other man.

“Would you take your shirt off for me, Harold?” 

The op’s voice was soft and respectful but Finch found himself flushing at the thought of revealing more of his person to the handsome man in front of him. Reese smiled again, his eyes full of desire and Harold stripped out of the undershirt, stepping closer to the bed.

“Oh Finch...you’re furry!” 

John’s voice was warm with pleased surprise and his reaction sent a pulse of heat straight down to Harold’s groin. He felt himself swelling in response to the op’s delight. He rubbed his stomach self-consciously though, almost feeling the need to explain his physiognomy. 

“I’m hardly a gorilla, Mr. Reese.”

“I like hair, Harold. Will you join me?”

Harold turned off the lamp and crawled in beside his partner. Reese waited with unruffled patience while Finch fussed with the pillows and tried to find a comfortable position. 

John was startled to feel the recluse’s weight settle along his side, with Finch turning towards him and draping an arm over his chest. He felt the older man draw in a deep breath and then relax, letting his smaller frame adjust to its position.

The op slid his own hand down Finch's side and eased his injured leg over until it was supported by his own. Harold sighed in relief.

"Thank you, that does help the pain." The recluse’s breath was warm against his chest. 

“Goodnight John.” 

“Goodnight Harold.”

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

_Finch had received and made several calls in the next forty-eight hours; excusing himself to the study during each of them and emerging afterwards with an air of pleased smugness about himself. Although he refused to discuss their significance, Harold took John and Harry aside in turn for private conversations._

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

“Have you heard of an organization known as the ‘Chrysalis Foundation’?”

Harry laughed in astonishment. “Anyone who’s worked in mental health care knows ‘Chrysalis’ and would give their right arm plus _both_ legs to be employed by them.” 

The caregiver spoke from experience. She’d toured one of their facilities while still in college and had been envious of the resources the private non-profit entity had commanded. 

Good work was being done by the Foundation true but Harry had been disturbed by the lack of quality care to found in most public institutions while working her training rotations. She saw firsthand the neglect and outright abuse that was commonplace in municipally funded hospitals and found herself drawn there after getting her degree, hoping to make a difference if she could.

“I know the director of the Foundation, Harry, my company has handled insurance for them for some time now. She’s informed me that ‘Chrysalis’ is purchasing St. Sebastian’s.”

_“What?!”_ The caregiver was stunned.

Finch smiled at her reaction. “Apparently a bequest was made from an anonymous donor....a _very wealthy donor_ , who had a relative housed there in the past. They wanted their gift to be used to acquire St. Sebastian’s and a trust fund set up to cover the majority of the facility’s operating expenses. ‘Chrysalis‘ plans not only to do just that but renovate the entire compound. It will provide the quality of care the Foundation is renowned for but still be accessible to anyone...thanks to the bequest.”

Harriet Barnes blinked, incapable of formulating a verbal response to this news.

“Ms. Shearwater has asked me to advise her on staffing and services, since I live in state and am ’local’, so to speak.” Finch met Harry’s eyes. 

“I informed her that I was in contact with someone familiar with the current employee roster and who could be depended upon to give an unbiased opinion of their job performances. She has authorized me to hire you as a consultant....if you’re willing.”

Harry stood up and paced the length of the study. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“In essence, you’ll be the one who recommends who stays and who goes. Your recommendations will be passed on to the director who will make the final decision of course. Ms. Shearwater knows that I have complete confidence in your judgment, Harry. The suggestions you propose _will_ be carried out.”

“I....I have to think about this.” She looked at the calm, possessed man seated before her...almost pleading for advice. 

“This is a lot of responsibility.....I’m not sure I can do it.”

Harold smiled again, reaching out to take her hand in his own. “I _know_ you can, Harry.”

Harry took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. She squeezed Finch’s hand in thanks and sat down again. “So, how do we do this?”

Harold gave a satisfied nod and pulled a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase. The master strategist was back in his element, firmly in control of his circumstances and confident in the outcome of his latest series of actions....in short, exactly as he should be.

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

1- ‘admin recovered terminate lost and found protocols’  
2- ‘subject: admin recovery’  
‘status: admin secure’  
‘action: lost and found protocols terminated’  
‘outcome: primary system secure’  
3- ‘initiate scorched earth protocol for current location'

　

NOTES: There will be one final installment to this story....there’s still a few loose ends to tie up and an understanding to be fully addressed. Stay tuned!


End file.
